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la  derniAre  page  qui  compote  una  telle 
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symbole  V  signifie  "FIN". 

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filmis  i  des  taux  de  reduction  diffirents. 
Lorsqun  le  document  est  trop  grand  pour  ittB 
reproduit  en  un  seul  clich*.  il  est  film*  A  partir 
da  Tangle  sup*rieur  gauche,  de  gauche  i  droite. 
et  da  haut  en  bas,  en  prenant  le  nombre 
d'images  n*cessaire.  Les  diagrammes  suivants 
illustrent  la  mathode. 


MICROCOPY  RESOLUTION  TEST  CHART 

(ANSI  oixj  ISO  TEST  CHART  No.  2l 


d.    /APPLIED  IIVMGE  Inc 

f^o^hes'.e',  New  '  ^'r  "9  uSA 

=       ■  716)  482  -  0300  -  Phone 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  HORNBY  HALL 


THE   MYSTERY  O 
HORNBY  HALL 


ANNA  T.  SADLIER 


N«w  YoKK,  Cincinnati,  Chicago 

BENZIGER  BROTHERS 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  VAOB 

I.     .Mayfair   7 

II.     II  .ruby  Hall   20 

III.  Marjoric  Describes  Her  Visit   ....  34 

IV.  The  Coming      Ma/y  Pemberton  ...  46 
V.  Mary  Is  Introduced  to  Mayfair    ...  59 

VI.  Mr.  end  Mrs.  Morton  Recall  the  Past  .  71 

VII.    Mr.  Morton  Fonns  a  Plan   83 

VIII.  Mary's  First  Time  at  Church  ....  95 

IX.  Mr.  Morton  Holds  a  Meeting  in  Mayfair  106 

X.    The  Long  Barn   114 

XI.  Tlie  Loft  over  the  Long  Barn  and  What 

Was  in  It   125 

XII.  Mrs.  MilfS  Plays  a  Comedy     ....  (38 

XIII.  Preparations  for  the  Great  Event  .  .  146 

XIV.  A  Delightful  Festivity   157 

XV.  Mary  Is  a  Center  of  A.  :  :tion    .    .   .  165 

XVL  Mrs.  Miles  Grows  Desperate   .    .    .    .  175 

XVII.    Visitors  to  Hornby  Hall   189 

XVIII.  Mr.  Morton's  Tale,  Which  Unveils  the 

Mystery                              ...  aoo 


5 


The  Mystery  of  Hornby  Hall. 


CHAPTER  I. 

MAYFAIR. 

"¥  wouldn't  live  at  Hornby,  with  old  Mr.  Pem- 
1    berton,  like  that  poor  Mary,  for  anything!" 

The  speaker  was  Marjorie  Morton,  who  nodded 
her  head  till  her  curls  fell  in  a  wild  tangle  about 
her  face,  though  she  was  a  "great  girl"  now,  as 
her  father  told  her,  and  too  tall  to  climb  trees. 
That  was  just  what  she  had  done,  however,  at  the 
moment,  and  she  was  seated  upon  a  high  bough, 
swinging  to  and  fro  with  the  keenest  enjoyment. 

"She  must  be  a  queer  sort  of  girl,"  said  Dick 
Dalton,  a  tall,  fair  boy,  who  was  just  beginning  to 
be  careful  about  the  cut  of  his  clothes  and  the  trim- 
ming of  his  hair.   "I  should  like  to  see  her." 

"Well,  I  wish  you  could  go,  then,  this  afternoon, 
.  instead  of  me,"  responded  Marjorie  from  her 
perch. 

"Are  you  going  there?"  cried  Dick,  and  a  chorus 
of  voices  repeated  the  inquiry. 

The  two  Wallace  boys,  Ned  and  George,  who  had 

7 


8 


Mayfair. 


been  assiduously  engaged  with  Luke  Morris  in 
playing  an  impromptu  game  of  baseball,  stopped  to 
hear  the  reply,  and  so  did  the  Lewis  girls,  Marie 
and  Florence,  who  were  busy  deciphering  a  puzzle 
which  Jack  Holland  had  put  on  paper  for  them. 
Jack  was,  at  least  in  his  own  opinion,  a  very  con- 
spicuous figure  in  the  little  circle  of  boys  and  girls 
who  were  accustomed  to  meet  almost  daily  in  this 
pleasant  field,  with  its  clump  of  shade  trees,  which 
they  had  christened  Mayfair.  Jack  was  a  slim, 
tall,  eager-eyed  youth,  who  like  his  chum  Dick 
Dalton  rejoiced  in  an  immaculate  collar  of  notice- 
able height,  and  had  begun  to  speak  of  Marjorie 
and  others  of  the  little  group  as  "kids." 

"Hello!"  said  Jack  after  a  pause,  following  the 
exclamation  with  a  long  whistle. 

"Why  shouldn't  I  go  to  Hornby?"  asked  Mar- 
jorie cooly,  though  she  fully  enjoyed  the  sensation 
she  had  created. 

"Why?"  answered  Jack,  sharply.  There  was 
something  of  a  feud  between  him  and  the  girl, 
who  had  not  sufficient  respect  for  the  young  col- 
legian's good  clothes  and  grown-up  ways.  "Why? 
Because  nobody's  set  foot  there  for  years  and  your 
folks  liave  'Deeii  dead  cuts  wiih  liie  PeiHUcrtons  ever 
since." 


Mayfair. 


9 


"Well,  we're  going,"  declared  Marjorie,  looking 
loftily  down,  with  an  air  which  made  even  the 
boy's  collar  appear  insignificant.  "We're  going  to 
call.    Mothe-  has  ordered  the  carriage  for  three." 

"You're  going  to  call!"  cried  Dick  scornfully— 
"a  kid  like  you?  You  mean,  I  suppose,  that  Aunt 
Lucy's  going  to  call  and  is  taking  you  with  her  for 
the  drive." 

"You  arc  rude,  Dick,  but  boys  will  be  boys," 
retorted  Marjorie  with  dignity.  "I  am  going  to 
see  Miss  Mary  Pembcrton." 

Dick  threw  himself  down  upon  the  grass  and 
rolled  over,  laughing,  while  Jack  resented  the  little 
girl's  air  of  superiority  and  looked  angrily  at  the 
dainty  figure  in  the  tree.  Marjorie,  for  her  part, 
rode  her  mimic  horse  with  perfect  equanimity, 
shaking  the  bough  of  the  ancient  oak  till  the  tree 
leaves  danced  in  the  sunlight  and  a  shower  fell 
upon  the  grass  below.  Catching  the  vexed  look 
upoi.  Jack's  face,  Marjorie  promptly  made  up  a 
ball  of  leaves  and  aimed  it  so  well  at  the  enemy 
that  his  immaculate  collar  was  struck. 

"You  stop  that!"  cried  Jack  wrathfully,  as  he 
carefully  brushed  off  the  leaves  and  felt  the  surface 
of  ills  neck-gear,  to  be  sure  that  tlic  celluloid  polish 
of  which  he  was  so  proud  had  not  been  destroyed. 


lO 


Mayfair. 


"You  stop  that,  I  say,  Marjorie,"  he  repeated 
ans^i  ily,  as  he  saw  she  was  about  to  prepare  another 
missile.  But  he  thought  it  prudent  to  take  himself 
out  of  her  reach.  For  he  knew  that  if  Marjorie 
thought  fit  to  continue  the  sport  he  could  do 
nothing  to  hinder  her.  It  would  be  impossible  to 
fight  with  a  girl,  especially  as  he  did  not  care  to 
make  himself  ridiculous  before  Miss  Marie  Lewis. 

She  was  the  daughter  of  a  wealthy  banker,  a 
comparatively  new  arrival  in  the  place,  and,  in  a 
word,  the  latest  sensation.  Having  secured  him- 
self against  attack.  Jack  bent  once  more  over  the 
puzzle,  explaining  to  Marie  and  her  sister  with  his 
patronizing  schoolboy  manner  exactly  how  it 
should  be  worked  Marjorie  felt  the  futility  of 
any  further  warfare  in  that  particular  line,  but  she 
had  a  lively  tongue  and  soon  began  to  pelt  her  van- 
quished foe  with  a  variety  of  rhyming  epithets, 
which  made  the  self-conscious  lad  furious: 

"Jack,  so  handy, 
He's  a  dandy, 
Dotes  oo  candyl" 

Jack's  silence  was  intensely  dignified,  while  Mar- 
jorie presently  made  a  change  in  her  ditty: 

"Jack,  be  nimble, 
Jack,  be  quick, 

Jack,  jump  over  the  candlestick  I " 


Mayfair. 


XI 


**You  were  nimble  enough  getting  behind  the 
tree,  Jack,"  went  on  Marjorie.  "You  see,  Marie, 
he  can't  have  a  good,  honest  fight  because  >ou're 
here.  He  used  to  just  pelt  nie  back  again  with 
leaves.  But  now  he's  trying  to  pretend  he's  grown 
up,  because  he  goes  to  college  and  wears  a  collar 
so  high  that  it  nearly  chokes  him." 

"You  little  wretch!"  Jack  muttered  under  his 
breath.  "I'll  pay  you  back  for  this  somehow  or 
another!" 

Dick  Dalton  laughed  aloud,  as  he  lay  on  the  grass 
looking  up  at  the  sky,  and  Marjorie,  unrelenting, 

sang  on: 

"Jack  and  Jill  went  up  the  UO 
To  fetch  a  pail  of  water ; 
Jack  Ml  down  and  broke  his  crown. 
And  JiU  cane  tmnbUng  afierl" 

Marjorie  broke  off  with  a  laugh,  as  she  cried 
out:  "Oh,  wouldn't  I  love  to  see  Jack  tumbling 
down  a  hill.  He's  so  mighty  dignified  and  cca- 
ceited." 

All  the  children  were  laughing  by  this  time,  even 
Mary  Lewis,  who  was  what  is  generally  described  as 
a  "sweet  girl"  and  hated  to  hurt  any  one's  feelings. 

"And  you  are  a  rude,  a  cstable  child!"  cried 
Jack,  losing  his  temper  completely.  "You  ought  to 
have  your  ears  boxed  and  be  sent  off  to  bed." 


12 


Mavfair. 


"Softly,  Jack,"  said  Dick,  turning  his  head  and 
looking  up  lazily  at  his  chum.  "I  can't  stand  that, 
you  know.    I  won't  have  you  talking  that  way  to 

my  cousin." 

"You  won't,  eh?"  roared  Jack.  "Well,  stand  up 
and  let  me  thrash  you  as  I  can't  thrash  her." 

"I'll  fight  you  any  time  you  like,"  responded  Dick 
sternly,  "but  not  before  girls." 

"Fight?"  exclaimed  Marie  Lewis  in  distress. 
"Oh,  surely,  you  wouldn't  do  that." 

"Oh,  certainly  not  before  you!"  answered  Jack. 
"I  beg  your  pardon— I  quite  forgot  myself." 

He  took  off  his  hat  and  bowed  to  her  with  his 
best  college  air.    But  Marjorie's  sharp  eyes  saw  ' 
from  the  tree-top  the  look  Jack  gave  Dick  and  that 
which  Dick  returned,  and  heard  the  whisper: 
"After  supper!" 

She  promptly  came  down  horn  her  perch,  slim 
and  dainty  in  her  blue  chambray  frock,  and  walked 
straight  up  to  Jack. 

"I  was  very  rude  and  provoking,"  she  said,  hold- 
ing out  her  hand,  "but  I  was  only  in  fun  and  you 
mustn't  be  angry!" 

Jack's  anger  was  very  swift  and  sudden,  but  it 
never  lasted.  Marjorie  had  hurt  his  vanity  by  her 
ill-timed  jests  before  these  town-bred  girls.  Yet  he 


Maypair. 


13 


was  easily  appeased,  the  more  especially  that  he 
was  already  sorry  for  having  got  into  a  quarrel 
with  his  best  friend,  Dick,  and  with  an  uncertain 
prospect  of  results,  too.  For  though  Jack  was  no 
mean  fighter  and  had  plenty  of  pluck,  Dick  was 
noted  for  his  strong  arm  and  matchless  coolness. 

"Oh,  I  suppose  it's  all  right,  Marjorie,"  he  an- 
swered in  an  exaggerated  tone  of  patronage ;  'Idds 
will  be  kids,  but  remember  after  this  that  children 
should  be  seen  and  not  heard." 

"You  are  really  a  ridiculous  boy,"  Marjorie  ex- 
claimed, eyeing  him  critically,  "but  you  hear,  Dick, 
we've  made  it  up.  I  take  back  all  I  sai^  about  Jack's 
being  nimble  and  a  dandy  and  handy  and  falling 
to  break  his  crown." 

There  was  the  light  of  mirth  in  her  eyes  as  she 
made  the  apologj"^  and  added,  speaking  for  her  late 
opponent:  "And  Jack  takes  back,  of  course,  all 
the  rude  things  he  said  to  me." 

"I  suppose  I  must,"  Jack  conceded;  "and  I  havv, 
no  quarrel  with  you,  Dick," 

"That's  all  .ight,  old  fellow,"  responded  Dick 
heartily,  "and  I'm  glad  of  it  There's  always 
enough  shindies  with  other  chaps  to  keep  one's 
hands  in." 

"I  wonder  why  boys  are  always  wanting  to 


Mayfah. 


fight,"  observed  Marie,  with  her  little,  affected  voice 
which  she  used  on  occasions. 

''Why  do  puppies  try  to  bark  and  dudes  to 
swim?"  answered  Marjorie;  "it's  their  nature;  they 
don't  seem  happy  without  fighting  and  probably  it 
does  them  good,  once  in  a  while." 

Marie  opened  her  blue  eyes  very  wide. 

"You  surely  are  not  in  earnest,"  she  cried.  "Oh, 
you  shocking  child!" 

"Does  that  shock  you?"  Marjorie  inquired.  "I 
can't  help  it  even  if  it  does.  I  think  some  boys 
would  grow  into  great  big  bullies  if  there  weren't 
other  boys  to  keep  them  in  order.  We  couldn't  do 
it,  you  know." 

"I  should  hope  not!"  exclaimed  Marie,  looking 
at  the  boys  for  sympathy,  out  of  her  large,  light- 
blue  eyes,  but  Dick  was  chasing  a  stray  cat  and  Jade 
lodced  gloomily  abstracted.  He  was  not  sure  that 
he  had  come  well  out  of  the  affair.  The  thi-ee 
others  were  busy  with  their  ball. 

"Girls  are  ever  so  much  nicer  than  boys,"  Mar- 
jorie dedared;  "I'm  just  as  glad  I've  no  brothers. 
Cousin  Dick  isn't  so  bad  as  soi.ie,  but  still  he's  not 
nearly  so  nice  as  if  he  were  a  girl." 

Florence  Lewis,  who  had  not  the  china-doll  pret- 
tiness  of  her  sister,  but  was  of  a  sociable  disposition 


Mayvais. 


and  destined  to  become  a  great  favorite  with  the 
Mayfair  boys  and  girls  before  the  tummer  was 
over,  answered  prcmiptly  in  her  cheerful  fashion: 

"Boys  have  their  good  points,  Marj<me.  We've 
a  lot  of  brothers  and  I'm  only  sorry  that  they're  so 
mu(  ;i  away  at  school." 

"Perhaps  if  I  had  brothers  I  might  like  them  bet- 
ter," Madge  agreed,  "and  I  don't  think  boys  are 
so  bad  till  they  go  to  coll^  and  b^fin  to  fancy 
themselves  men." 

Jack  thought  it  wise  to  take  no  notice  of  the  in- 
sinuation contained  in  this  speech.  He  let  his  eager 
eyes  follow  the  Wallace  boys  and  Luke  Morris  in 
their  game  and  Dicky  in  the  cat  chase.  For  he  was, 
after  all,  a  boy  at  heart  and,  whatever  he  might 
pretend,  was  still  engrossed  with  a  boy's  aims  and 
interest. 

"Good  for  you,  Luke!"  he  cried,  rising  to  his 
feet  in  the  excitement  of  the  game.  "A  good 
catch,  old  fellow,  a  good  catch!" 

His  foce  lighted  up  with  interest,  his  eyes  flashed, 
he  clapped  his  hands  with  enthusiasm. 

"How  much  better  you  look,  Jack,  when  you  are 
just  a  boy,"  observed  Marjorie,  regarding  him 
sympathetically.  "I  think  you'd  make  rather  a  nice 
girl,  too,  you  change  around  so  soon." 


1 6  Maypaik. 

Jack  reddened  to  the  eyes  and  walked  away  wit! 
dignity,  and  Marjorie  laughed  as  she  looked  acres 
tlie  road  to  the  brick-paved  stable-yard  whicl 
flanked  the  Mortons'  house.  She  jumped  u] 
hastily. 

"My,  there's  Jerry  going  to  harness  the  horses! 
she  cried.  "I  must  run  and  dress.  Going  to  ca 
on  people  is  a  bother.  I'd  rather  stay  here.  Good 
bye,  girls." 

"Good-bye,"  said  Florence;  "we'll  just  be  dyin 
to  hear  what  that  strange  place  is  like." 

"Oh,  yes,"  added  Marie,  "and  the  girl." 

"Unless  you  get  eaten  up,  come  out  after  suppe 
to-night  and  tell  us  all  about  it,"  Jack  called  afu 
her. 

'  If  children  should  be  seen  and  not  heard,  ho 
can  I  tell  you  11  about  it?"  flashed  Marjorie  ba( 
at  him  from  the  middle  of  the  road.  "I  don't  b 
lieve  I'll  tell  you  anything." 

"She  will  though,  for  all  that,"  Jack  declare 
confidently.  "She's  good-natured  and  never  keq 
spite.  Only  she's  such  a  kid  and  talks  thiough  h 
hat." 

As  Marjorie  was  out  of  hearing,  there  was  i 
answer  forthcoming,  fortunately  for  the  peace 
that  green  and  sunny  Mayfair,  which  the  half-jes 


Mayfais. 


17 


v:iy  with 
:(1  across 
i  which 
iped  ui) 

horses!" 
g  to  call 
e.  Good- 
be  dying 


er  supper 
lied  after 

ard,  how 
orie  back 
don't  be- 

declared, 
vcr  keeps 
tough  her 

e  was  no 

peace  of 
half-jest- 


ing squabbles  of  the  young  people  indeed  only 
served  to  jnliven. 

So,  while  the  sun  shone  down  through  the 
branches  of  the  trees  overhead,  making  a  checker- 
work  upon  the  soft  grass  underfoot,  the  boys  and 
girls  turned  their  eager  attention  upon  the  Mortons' 
house,  which  was  directly  opposite,  and  presently 
they  saw  the  carriage  roll  out  at  the  gate,  and  Mar- 
jorie  sitting  up  very  straight  beside  her  mother.  She 
looked  very  well  in  her  soft  white  dress,  the  tangle 
of  curls  being  smoothed  out  considerably  under 
her  leghorn  hat  and  a  blue  sunshade  in  her  hand. 

'•Marjorie  is  like  a  fairy  queen  in  a  book !"  cried 
Florence,  half  mischievously,  half  admiringly. 

"She's  very  pretty,"  assented  Marie. 

"Marjorie's  well  enough,"  pronounced  Dick, 
carelessly.  "She's  lots  of  fun,  though,  and  looks 
don't  matter,  anyway." 

The  Lewis  girls  now  left  the  boys  in  undisturbed 
possession  of  the  field,  and  soon  Jack  and  Dick  had 
off  their  uncomfortable  collars,  and  their  jackets 
as  well,  and  were  as  deep  in  the  game  of  baseball 
as  any  one. 

"Girls  are  a  bother  anyhow,"  declared  Jack, 
abandoning  his  company  manners.  "They're  a  per- 
fect pest  to  have  around." 


i8 


Mayfaxs. 


"Marjorie  it  good  fun/'  argued  Dick,  stoutly. 
"There's  no  nonsense  about  her  and  she  doesn't 
care  whether  we've  got  collars  cm  or  not" 

"Yes.  she's  the  right  sort,"  agreed  Ned  Wallace, 

"and  she  can  throw  a  ball  as  wdl  as  anybody." 

"And  run,"  put  in  George  Wallace. 

"And  play  cricket,"  added  Luke  Morris. 

"Oh,  well,"  commented  Dick,  "she'll  have  to 
give  up  all  that  sort  of  thing  now.  She's  getting  big 
and  she's  to  go  to  boarding-school  in  September." 

"She'll  come  back  just  like  those  stuck-up  LewiS 
girls,  who  sit  up  like  dolls,  afraid  to  get  their  dresses 
spoiled,"  grumbled  Luke  Morris.  "I  hate  girls  like 
that." 

"Marie  Lewis  is  all  right,"  Jack  pronounced, 
with  some  iiv.*mith.   "She's  a  very  sweet  girl." 

"Trying  to  pretend  she's  a  big  lady,"  grunted 
Luke;  "she's  too  sweet  to  be  wholesome." 

"Shut  up,  Luke!"  exclaimed  Dick,  "we  don't 
want  any  bickering  in  Mayfair.  We've  had  a  jolly 
time  so  far  together." 

"That's  so,"  agreed  the  Wallaces,  "I  g^ess  we'd 
miss  any  of  the  crowd  if  they  went  away." 

While  this  talk  was  going  on  in  the  pleasant 
meeting-place  of  Mayfair,  the  carriage  rolled  along 
the  smooth  road,  making  more  than  one  winding 


Maytaib. 


19 


and  finally  turned  in  at  the  gate  of  Hornby  Hall, 
as  the  Pemberton  residence  was  called.  Why,  in 
this  democratic  village  in  the  heart  of  Penniyl- 
vania,  the  dwelling  should  have  received  the  aris- 
tocratic appellation  it  yr  M  hard  to  say. 

Marjorie,  who  was  quite  pale  with  excitement 
and  something  like  fear,  sat  very  still  by  her 
mother's  side.  She  trembled  when  Jerry  got  down 
from  the  box  and  mounted  the  steps.  The  man 
himself  was  not  quite  free  from  apprehension,  such 
were  the  tales  that  were  told  in  all  the  countryside 
about  this  mysterious  dwelling.  Marjorie  felt  as 
if  her  heart  would  stand  still  in  that  breathless 
moment  after  Jerry  had  rung  the  bell,  and  she 
fancied  that  her  mother  was  not  altogether  at  ease 
either,  which  was  indeed  the  case. 

"I  wish  I  were  back  in  Mayfair,  with  the  loys 
and  girls!"  she  said  to  herself,  recalling  how  bright- 
ly the  sun  had  been  shining  on  the  green  grass. 
Here  everything  seemed  damp  and  cold  and,  as 
Marjorie  expressed  i^  ghostly."  For  no  one  had 
raked  up  the  dead  le.  es  of  last  auttunn  and  there 
they  were  on  the  paths,  brown  and  sere,  sending 
forth  a  mouldy  odor  as  they  rotted  away,  and  chok- 
ing th?  fresh  shrinfc  of  grass  which  vainly  attempted 
to  rear  their  heads. 


CHAPTER  II. 


HORNBY  HALL. 


HE  bell  went  clanging-,  with  harsh,  discordant 


•»■  sound,  through  wastes  of  dreariness.  It 
seemed  to  Marjorie  as  if  its  angry  tones  must  bt  ing 
some  malign  shapes  from  their  lurking-places  to 
confront  the  daring  intruders.  At  last  the  door 
was  opened  by  an  old  woman,  with  silvery  hair  and 
a  peculiar,  ashen  whiteness  of  face.  It  seemed  as 
if  the  color  of  her  hair  had  been  bleached  out  of  it 
by  some  special  process;  and  Marjorie  wondered 
if  it  could  have  turned  white  in  a  single  night.  For 
surely  it  had  not  the  natural  appearance  of  hair 
that  had  lost  its  color  in  the  slow  passage  of  years. 

Jerry  asked,  with  a  voice  which  had  a  tremor  in 
it,  if  Mr.  Pemberton  was  at  home. 

"Mr.  Pemberton,"  responded  the  woman,  with 
a  ghastly  laugh  wliicli  showed  toothless  gums, 
"where  else  should  he  be  but  at  home?  He  can't 
put  a  foot  under  him." 


ao 


Hornby  Hall. 


21 


Mrs.  Morton  here  bent  forward  and  said  to  the 
old  woman: 

"Ask  if  he  will  see  Mrs.  Morton  and — ^her  little 
girl,  and  say  also  that  they  would  both  like  to  see 
Miss  Mary  Pembcrton." 

The  woman  went  away  and  Mrs.  Morton  leaned 
back  in  the  carriage,  with  the  air  of  one  ;vho  is  ac- 
complishing a  dreaded  duty,  and  as  she  slowly 
looked  around  her  she  thought  of  the  past,  when 
Hornby  Hall  had  been  a  place  of  merrymaking  and 
slie  a  young  girl,  coming  here  for  a  ball,  or  setting 
out  upon  some  expedition  with  a  merry  party  of 
young  people  from  that  very  hall-door,  which  now 
seemed  to  frown  upon  her  with  gloomy  severity. 

Marjorie  could,  of  course,  have  no  idea  of  the 
curious  sensation  with  which  her  mother  mounted 
those  once  familiar  steps,  but  she  herself  felt,  as 
she  afterward  explained  to  an  interested  audience, 
as  if  she  were  stepping  into  an  exciting  but  rather 
frightful  story-book.  What  the  next  page  of  that 
book  would  disclose  she  could  not  guess,  but  she 
presently  followed  her  mother  into  a  dark  and 
sombre-looking  roan.  There  were  pictures  of 
stern-faced  men  upon  the  wall,  and  one  of  a  girl 
in  a  ball-dress  of  pink,  with  a  bouquet  of  roses  in 
her  hand  and  a  certain,  delicate  charm  in  features 


22 


Hornby  Hall. 


which  yet  were  irregular,  in  eyes  which  must  have 
been  luminous  in  the  living  person,  and  in  lips  that 
smiled,  half-parted. 

Marjorie  stared  at  ^his  portrait  with  fascination. 
It  seemed  so  utterly  out  of  keeping  with  its  sur- 
roundings, just  sm  she  felt  her  own  white  dress  and 
dainty  ribbons  to  be.  Presently  a  peculiar,  grating 
sound  came  lo  the  listeners'  ears  and  an  old  man 
was  wheeled  into  the  room  in  an  invalid's  chair  by 
a  servant  white-haired  and  portentously  solemn. 

"Everything  is  so  old  here,"  Marjorie  thought 
whiuisically,  "I  wonder  if  the  girl  will  be  old,  too, 
and,  2^ -rhaps,  have  white  hair." 

But  ijer  thoughts  were  distracted  from  the  girl, 
who  had  not  yet  appeared,  and  riveted  with  a  kind 
of  terror  upon  the  old  man,  already  before  her. 
His  pointed  chin  and  hooked  nose,  his  swarthy 
complexion  an  i  sneering  smile  terrified  her.  He 
sat  surveying  Marjorie's  mother  in  silence,  and  the 
girl  noticed  that  ihe  rich  color  faded  from  Mrs. 
Morton's  cheek  under  the  gaze,  which  she  silently 
returned.  After  a  lor<g  pause,  the  old  man  began, 
in  a  hissing,  sibilant  voicj  that  made  Marjorie 
tremble : 

"And  so,  Lucy  Watson— or  should  I  say  Lucy 
Morton? — you  have  come  at  last  to  see  me," 


Hornby  Hall. 


23 


"I  have  come,  as  you  say,  to  see  you,"  Mrs.  Mor- 
ton responded,  "and  also  to  see  Mary  Pcmberton, 
my  dead  friend's  child." 

The  old  man  laughed,  a  low  and  not  unmusical 

laugh. 

"Put  it  as  plainly  as  you  will,"  he  observed,  "that 
seeing  me  is  but  the  necessary  step  to  seeing  the 
child,  Mary  Pemberton.  As,  however,  you  have 
taken  this  necessary  step,  your  object  shall  be  at- 
taiped." 

H'  touched  a  bell  which  stood  near  him  on  a 
table,  emitting  a  sharp,  imperative  sound,  which 
brought  the  old  servant  as  promptly  as  though  a 
spring  had  impelled  him  inside  the  door. 

"Let  Miss  Pemberton  come  here  at  once — at  once, 
I  say." 

The  man  withdrew  and  Mary  Pembfr'  n  ap- 
peared, with  an  almost  magical  speed  it  seemed  to 
Marjorie.  A  queer  fancy  came  into  her  mind  that 
this  old  man  kept  all  these  figures  upon  springs  and 
jerked  each  one  into  his  presence  when  he  willed. 

To  Marjorie's  relief,  however,  Mary  Pemberton 
was  not  old.  An  involuntary  glance  at  the  new- 
comer's hair  showed  it  to  be  of  a  natural  color. 
Her  face,  indeed,  was  pale,  like  that  of  one  un- 
accustomed to  the  open  air,  and  beside  the  rich 


24 


Hornby  Hall. 


brown  of  Marjorie's  own  cheeks  seemed  wan.  Mar- 
jorie's  eyes  turned  instantly  from  the  face  of  the 
girl  to  that  of  the  picture.  There  was  a  curious 
resemblance  between  the  two.  It  seemed  as  though 
this  living  Mary  Pemberton  were  a  faded  image 
of  the  brilliant  young  figure  in  the  ball-dress. 

"This  is  Mary  Pemberton!"  announced  the  old 
man,  transfixing  his  granddaughter  with  a  look, 
once  more  giving  the  impression  that  he  was  jerk- 
ing her  forward  by  some  secret  spring.  For  she 
moved  mechanically  to  Mrs,  Morton's  side.  The 
latter  took  her  hand  and  kissed  her. 

"I  was  your  mother's  best  friend,  my  dear,"  she 
said. 

The  young  girl's  face  took  on  a  startled  ex- 
pression, like  tliat  of  one  awakened  from  sleep.  But 
the  old  man's  voice  jeiked  her  round  again  till  she 
stood  facing  him,  trembling  perceptibly  as  she  met 
his  cold  gaze. 

"She  is,  if  you  please,  Lucy  Morton,  unaccus- 
tomed to  sentiment.  Sentiment  is  a  weed  which 
no  longer  grows  at  Hornby  Hall.  We  have  up- 
rooted it  with  other  noxious  plants.  Mary  Pem- 
berton, shake  hands  with  that  child  yonder." 

Mary  Ponberton  advanced  toward  Marjorie, 
who  felt  about  as  much  pleasure  in  touching  her 


Hornby  Hall. 


25 


hand  as  if  the  girl  were  a  ghost.  She  seemed  a 
part  of  the  mystery,  the  terror,  the  eerie  tales  which 
for  inore  than  a  generation  had  spread  about  the 
countryside.  And  yet  there  was  a  curious  interest 
and  fascination  in  watching  this  young  plant  of  an 
unreal  atmosphere,  who  sat  so  still  in  a  dingy- 
colored  linen  frock,  neat  and  fitting  well  a  sym- 
metrical little  figure,  but  tmrelieved  by  any  touch 
of  color.  Mary  on  her  part  took  in  with  keenly  ob- 
servant eyes  every  detail  of  her  visitor's  dainty 
costume  with  a  curious  sickening  at  heart  Those 
bright-colored  ribbons,  that  soft,  becoming  white, 
were  a  revelation  to  her  of  possibilities  outside  the 
walls  of  Hornby. 

Mr.  Pemberton  watched  the  meeting  between 
the  two  girls  with  a  smile  that  lent  a  new  malignity 
to  his  face  and  he  noted  the  dissimilarity  in  their 
costumes,  remarking  upon  it  in  a  terse  sentence: 

"The  grub  and  the  butterfly !" 

Marjorie,  usually  glib  of  tongue,  did  not  know 
what  to  say,  especially  in  presence  of  the  terrible 
grandfather,  to  this  unknown  quantity  of  a  child, 
who  might  have  been  a  century  old  so  far  did  she 
seem  removed  from  the  gay  and  lighthearted  com- 
pany of  boys  and  girls  fr<»n  whom  Marjorie  had 
come. 


Hornby  Hall. 


"Your  granddaughter  has  lived  very  much 
alone/'  observed  Mrs.  Morton. 

The  old  man's  face  clouded  on  hearing  the  title 
given  the  girl. 

"Mary  Pemberton  has,  as  you  say,  Hved  very 
much  alone,"  he  said. 

"Well,  I  would  like  to  change  all  that,  if  you  will 
let  me,"  Mrs.  Morton  pleaded.  "I  would  like  to 
bring  Mary  into  companionship  with  other  children 
of  her  own  age." 

"A  very  doubtful  benefit,"  ccnnmented  the  old 
man,  eyeing  Mrs.  Morton  with  his  cold  stare. 

"I  can  not  agree  with  you,"  Mrs.  Morton  ex- 
claimed warmly,  though,  indeed,  she  had  very  little 
hope  of  persuading  the  old  man  to  permit  such 
companionship.  Surprises  were,  however,  in  store 
for  her. 

"Argument,  as  you  may  perhaps  remember,  was 
never  tolerated  in  Hornby  Hall,"  Mr.  Pembert*  . 
reminded  her  sternly. 

Mrs.  Morton  remembered  very  well  inat  by  ^ 
master  at  least  argument  had  never  been  tolerated 
and,  oh,  the  daric  tales  that  had  gathered  around 
that  iron  will  of  his.  The  au  ocrat  was  silent  for 
an  interval,  during  which  his  mind  was  busy  fol> 
lowing  out  an  idea  which  had  come  to  him  when 


Hornby  Hall. 


27 


he  perceived  the  contrast  between  the  aDpard  of 
the  two  girls  and  was,  moreover,  aware  that  Mary 
saw  and  felt  it.  At  last  he  spoke: 

"To  prove  that  Mary  Pemberton  is  not  a 
prisoner,  as  many  of  you  charitable  country  folk 
have  conjectured,  and  that  Hornby  Hall  is  not 
precisely  a  jail,  whatever  you  may  believe  to  the 
contrary,  Mary  Pemberton  shall  accept  whatever 
invitation  you  may  see  fit  to  extend  to  her." 

Mrs.  Morton  was  silent  a  moment  from  sheer 
amazement,  while  the  old  man,  leaning  back  in  his 
cnair,  toyed  with  a  pair  of  gold-rimmed  glasses 
suspended  around  his  neck  by  a  black  ribbon,  and 
regarded  her  sarcastically.  Meanwhile  Marjorie 
had  entered  into  conversation  with  the  strange 
child. 

"Do  you  go  to  school  ?"  she  asked. 

Mary  Pemberton  shook  her  head. 

"No,"  she  replied,  and  there  was  a  wistful  tone 
in  her  voice.  This  girl,  she  reflected,  who  had  come 
in  from  the  outer  brightness  attired  like  some  bril- 
liantly colored  bird  she  had  seen  flitting  about  the 
garden,  had  beai  to  school  and  had  played  all  her 
life  with  other  children. 

"But  how — ^how  do  you  lairn  lessons,  then?" 
Marjorie  asked. 


28 


Hornby  Hall. 


"Mrs.  Miles  teaches  me." 
"Oh,  you  have  a  governess!"  Marjorie  ex- 
claimed, and  Mary  did  not  undeceive  her,  though 
that  title  could  scarce  have  been  applied  to  the 
woman  in  question.  "Well,  it  would  be  nice  in 
some  ways  learning  at  home,  but  I  think  after  all 
school  is  more  fun." 

"I  don't  know,"  responded  Mary  Pembcrton 
vaguely,  and  her  eyes  sought  the  ground. 

"Mary  Pemberton  lias  not  experienced  the  joys 
you  speak  of,  Miss  Chatterbox,"  observed  the  old 
man,  suddenly  addressing  Marjorie.  She  felt  or 
fancied  she  felt  a  curious,  pricking  sensation,  as  if 
a  snake  had  stung  her,  while  her  eyes  were  so  at- 
tracted to  the  ha  d  old  face  that  she  felt  they 
could  never  be  withdrawn  again.  Marjorie  had  not 
known  he  was  listening  to  her  conversation  with 
Mary.  His  attention  had  been  apparently  engrossed 
by  what  her  mother  was  saying.  But  Mr.  Pember- 
ton possessed  the  faculty  of  being  able  to  heai  two 
or  three  conversations  at  the  same  time. 

"She  is  therefore  quite  unlike  your  modern  young 
person,"  the  grandfather  went  on,  "and  I  am  afraid 
will  not  prove  very  amusing  to  a  young  lady  of 
fashion  like  yourself." 
"Marjorie  a  young  lady  of  fashion!"  Mrs.  Mor- 


Hornby  Hall. 


29 


ton  cried,  with  a  laugh  which  sounded  unnatural  in 
th:i'  gloomy  room,  "oh,  you  should  see  her  climb- 
ing a  tree  or  running  a  race  with  her  cousin." 

"Ah !"  said  the  old  man,  "I  am  afraid  Mary  Pem- 
berton  will  be  left  still  farther  behind  in  those 
achievements.  She  has  not  been  permitted  any 
such  unfeminine  performances.  She  has  been  ac- 
customed to  measure  her  steps  at  Hornby  Hall,  to 
obey  without  question,  to  abstain  from  unseemly 
amusements,  and  in  general  to  order  herself  by  the 
laws  that  prevail  here.  The  breaking  of  a  law 
brings  swift  punishment  and  Mary  has  learned  that 
the  way  of  the  transgressor  is  hard." 

He  laughed  the  same  mirthless  laugh  and  looked 
at  Mary,  who  sat  motionless  with  eyes  cast  down, 
as  though  by  any  sudden  movement  or  by  an  un- 
guarded glance  she  might  make  herself  amenable 
to  those  unwritten,  but  ever  present  laws. 

"When  can  she  come?"  Mrs.  Morton  asked 
shortly.  Her  old  dislike  for  the  man  was  rising 
within  her  so  strong  that  she  could  no  longer 
dissemble. 

"I  perceive  that  I  have  lost  nothing  of  my  old  at- 
traction for  you,  my  dear  Lucy  Watson,"  laughed 
Mr.  Pemberton,  '"but  in  answer  to  yovu-  inquiry  I 
may  say  that  the  c^e  will  permit  the  maiden  to  cs- 


30 


Hornby  Hall. 


cape  as  early  as  to-morrow,  which  is,  I  believe, 
Saturday;  and  to  prove  how  completely  he  has 
relaxed  his  grip,  you  may  keep  her,  if  you  are  so 
minded,  for  a  week." 

Mrs.  Morton  could  hardly  believe  her  ears  and 
Marjorie  was  delighted  at  the  idea  of  a  new  com- 
panion, even  though  she  was  one  so  different  from 
ordinary  girls.  So  she  whispered  to  Mary,  quite 
gleefully,  and  almost  as  if  the  old  man  were  not 
there: 

"Oh,  won't  it  be  nice  to  have  you  come  to  our 
house  for  a  whole  week.  I  have  such  a  lot  of  things 
to  show  you !" 

Mary  seemed  dazed  and  did  not  answer.  Ivir 
Pemberton,  touching  the  spring  again  by  addressing 
her,  caused  the  girl  to  face  liim,  mechanically 

"Do  you  hear,  Mary  Pemberton  ?"  he  said.  "You 
are  to  bid  Mrs.  Miles  get  you  ready  for  to-morrow. 
You  will  go  from  here  at  four  o'clock  in  the  after- 
noon and  remain  till  that  day  week  at  precisely  th 
same  hour.  See  that  you  are  not  a  minute  late,  do 
you  hear?  I  will  wait  for  you  with  my  watch  in 
my  hand." 

Mary  Pemberton  only  bent  her  head,  but  all 
present  knew  that  the  words  were  engraven  on  her 
mind,  to  be  obeyed  with  the  utmost  exactitude. 


Hornby  Hall. 


31 


"Don't  speak  to  me  on  the  subject,  and  don't  let 
nie  see  your  face  aj;ain  till  you  come  back,"  com- 
manded Mr.  Pemberton.  "Shake  hands  with  the 
visitors  and  go  instantly  to  Mrs,  Miles." 

She  did  as  directed,  gliding  at  once  from  the 
room  after  giving  her  hand  to  each  of  the  guests. 
They  were  now  standing  up  to  go  and  Mr.  Pem- 
berton gave  Mrs.  Morton  two  icy  fingertips. 

"You  will,  I  know,  relax  all  discipline,"  he  said, 
"and  put  into  the  girl's  mind  sentiment  and  the  sense 
of  color,  which  are  mis  hievotis.  They  are  brjiished 
from  Hornby  Hall,  with  other  pernicious  things 
which  deceive  and  blind  the  ,  Dung  especially  to  the 
actual  barrenness  and  drearinen  of  life.  But  I  am 
not  afraid  to  make  the  experiment.  The  discipline 
of  Hornby  will  soon  pluck  up  all  such  weeds.  Mrs. 
Miles  can  be  trusted  for  that." 

He  laughed  again,  that  laugh  which  was  not  good 
lo  hear. 

"I  myself  do  not  interfere.  I  neither  punish  nor 
reward.  I  never  praise  and  but  seldom  condemn. 
But  I  am  convinced  that  Mary  Pemberton  will  better 
understand  what  discipline  means  when  she  has  been 
for  a  sufficient  time  surrounded  by  color  and  senti- 
ment. The  young  are  best  taught  by  contrasts.*' 

Mrs.  Morton  looked  at  him  with  a  feeling  of 


I 


32  HOBKBY  HaXX. 

deadly  repulsion,  as  though  he  were  some  adder 
which  crossed  her  path.  This  visit,  this  holiday, 
then,  was  to  serve  as  a  new  species  of  torment,  a 
wholesome  discipline.  Still,  even  a  wedc  would  be 
scmiething,  an  oasis  in  a  desert  life. 

"I  dnire  her  to  grow  up  in  a  certain  groove," 
Mr.  Pemberton  said,  noticing  and  appraising  at  its 
full  value  Mrs.  Morton's  glance,  which  gratified 
him,  as  an  acknowledgment  of  power.  "She  will, 
then,  be  free,  I  fancy,  from  vicissitudes,  free  from 
certain  tendencies  to  pleasure  and  excitement,  to 
gay  apparel  and  ch'^erful  company,  which  have 
mocked  some  lives  v  ithin  these  very  walls.  She  will 
expect  little  of  life  and  get,  of  cuui^e,  i.otiiinj;  " 

For  one  brief  instant  a  feeling  akin  to  pity  entered 
into  Mrs.  Morton's  mind.  There  was  a  suggestion 
of  pathos,  of  the  sad  shipwreck  which  had  befallen 
this  man  of  commanding  gifts,  and  almost  a  note 
nf  explanation  or  of  self-justification.  But  his  icy 
words  of  farewell  and  the  chill  of  his  personality 
seemed  to  follow  the  mother  and  daughter  out  into 
the  warm  air  full  of  life  and  colored  sweetness. 

"I  am  afraid  of  him!"  Marjorie  murmured,  as 
she  clung  close  to  her  mother  in  the  carriage.  "He 
is  like  one  of  those  dreadful  old  men  in  fairy-tales, 
and  di,  poor,  poor  Mary." 


Hornby  Hall. 


33 


The  h<Mneward  drive  was  a  silent  <Mie,  but  as 
they  drew  near  the  cheerful  dwelling  of  brick,  Mar- 
jorie  said  aloud :  "I  shall  never  be  able  to  make  the 
girls  and  boys  understand  what  it  is  like  at 
Hornby." 


CHAPTER  III. 


MARJORIE  DESCRIBES  HER  VISIT. 

THE  charmed  circle  of  girls  and  boys  who  were 
privileged  to  assemble  in  the  pleasant  field 
dignified  by  the  high-sounding  name  of  Mayfair 
had  gathered  early  on  that  particular  evening  to 
hear  of  Mar  jorie's  visit  to  the  Pembertons.  And  there 
were  many  more  who  would  have  liked  to  hear  the 
recital,  for  the  news  had  gone  through  the  village 
like  wild-fire  that  Mrs.  Morton  had  gone  with  her 
young  daughter  to  call  at  Hornby  Hall.  Her  car- 
riage had  been  watched  by  many  curious  eyes  till 
it  disappeared  up  the  long,  straight  avenue  with 
rows  of  poplars  to  the  great,  staring,  white-walled 
house,  so  long  a  center  of  mysteries  for  the  village. 
The  circumstance  had  set  all  the  elders  a-talking. 
Not  only  the  gentlefolk,  who  numbered  about  a 
dozen  families  in  all,  but  also  John  Tobin,  who  kept 
the  Riverside  Hotel,  an  old  resident  and  a  man  of 
mark  after  his  own  fashion,  and  Jeremiah  O'Meara, 
the  baker,  who  had  come  straight  f.om  Tipperary 
to  this  green  village  in  the  heart  of  the  Pennsyl- 

34 


Marjorie  Describes  Her  Visit,  35 

vania  hills,  and  had  served  bread  and  rolls  and 
cake  to  gentle  and  nr.ple  alike  during  a  period  of 
thirty  years. 

These  had  n.  k:!  to  say  ibout  the  visit  of  that 
afternoon  and  tue  iuc.>::-'"s  to  which  it  gave  rise; 
and  so  had  the  widow  McBain,  a  Scotchwoman, 
who  sold  needles  and  thread  and  other  small  wares 
in  a  very  small  shop  which  was  a  local  headquarters 
for  gossip;  and  William  McTeague,  the  general 
dealer,  and  Maurice  Burke,  the  carpenter,  and  Jim 
Waller,  the  cobbler.  They  formed  a  coterie  of 
oldest  inhabitants,  and  meeting,  though  not  at  May- 
fair,  they  recalled  every  old  story,  whether  true  or 
false,  which  had  been  in  circulation  during  a  score 
or  more  of  years. 

Marjorie,  however,  had  her  audience,  consisting 
of  her  own  particular  little  set :  the  Lewis  girls  and 
Dolly  Martin,  who  was  Marjorie's  chum  at  school 
and  walked  back  and  'orth  with  her  during  ten 
calendar  months  of  the  year.  Dolly  was  a  plain, 
freckled,  tall  girl,  in  marked  contrast  to  ^/etty 
Marie  Lewis,  but  she  was  very  clever  at  her  studies 
and,  because  of  unfailing  good  humor,  a  general 
favorite.  There  was  also  a  thin,  dark-{a<xd  girl, 
who  had  a  decidedly  Jewish  cast  of  countenance, 
though  she  was  an  American  by  birth  and,  like  the 


36      Marjorie  Describes  Her  Visit. 

others,  a  Catholic  in  creed.  Her  name  was  Kitty 
Hogan. 

The  Wallace  boys  and  Luke  Morris  came  run- 
ning up  the  road  out  of  breath,  so  eager  were  they 
to  hear  the  news;  after  them  came  Hugh  Graham, 
a  shy,  sandy-complexioned  boy,  tall  for  his  age  and 
reticent  of  speech.  He  in  turn  was  followed  by 
Jack,  and  Dick  Dalton,  who  vaulted  over  the  fence 
instead  of  entering  by  the  gate.  Dick,  by  accident 
or  design,  tripped  up  Jack,  who  went  sprawling 
almost  at  Marie  Lewis'  feet.  He  rose  making  a 
wry  face,  but  put  on  his  best  college  manner,  which 
Marjorie  so  much  disliked. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Miss  Marie,"  he  said,  with 
quite  a  lofty  air. 

"I  hope  you're  not  hurt,"  said  Marie,  with  a 
look  of  concern  from  her  blue  eyes  which  was  quite 
melting  and  made  the  other  girls  giggle. 

"Oh,  not  at  all,"  Jack  answered  her,  stepping 
aside  to  administer  a  sly  kick  to  Dick  Dalton,  who 
already  was  plying  Marjorie  with  questions. 

"There's  not  so  very  much  to  tell  after  all,"  Mar- 
jorie declared  slowly.  She  sat  under  the  spreading 
oak,  with  her  tangled  curls  waving  in  the  breeze 
and  the  departing  sun  shedding  a  glory  about  her 
face.   She  seemed  like  some  priestess  of  old  with 


M\RjoRiE  Describes  Her  Visit. 


37 


her  circle  of  disciples  round  her  eagerly  hanging  on 
the  words  of  their  oracle.  Jack's  eager  eyes  were 
fixed  upon  her  fa  as  he  sat  upon  the  grass  at  her 
feet  side  by  side  with  Dick,  while  the  other  boys 
pressed  around  in  a  circle  and  the  girls  occupied 
the  bench  with  Marjorie  in  a  variety  of  attitudes, 
all  expressive  of  eager  attention. 

"We  drove  up  the  avenue  to  the  door,"  Marjorie 
began,  with  due  solemnity,  "and  Jerry  got  down 
and  rang.  The  bell  sounded  just  fearful,  echoing 
through  the  halls,  and  then — " 

Marjorie  paused,  overcome  by  the  recollection. 

"What?"  cried  Jack.  "Girls  take  so  long  to  tell 
a  story." 

"Shut  up,  Jack!"  cried  Dick  emphatically  if  not 
politely. 

"Then,"  continued  Marjorie,  taking  no  notice  of 
the  interruption,  "an  old  woman  opened  the  door. 
Very  old  she  seemed  to  be,  with  crinkled  white  hair 
and  a  face  that  looked  as  if  it  had  been  white- 
washed." 

"Oh!"  burst  from  several  of  the  girls.  There 
seemed  something  specially  ghastly  in  the  idea. 

"When  we  went  into  a  very  dark  room,  with  a 
high  ceiling  and  dull  paper  on  the  wall,  Mr.  Pem- 
berton  was  wheeled  in.  He  is  old  too,  and  white- 


38       Maejorie  Describes  Her  Visit. 


haired,  and  the  servant  who  pushed  the  chair  had 
white  hair  too,  and  then,  and  then — Mr.  Pembcrton 
was  rather  terrible." 

"Terrible!"  cried  a  chorus.  "How?  What  did 
he  say?" 

"It  wasn't  even  what  he  said,"  Marjohe  ex- 
plained, "but  his  voice  and  his  awful  eyes  and  his 

(lark  face." 

The  girls  were  fairly  awestruck ;  the  boys  in  their 
interest  bent  forward  upon  one  another's  shoulders. 

"Stop  shoving,  there!"  cried  Jack.  "You  can 
hear  just  as  well  without  breaking  my  collarbone." 

"Keep  still.  Jack!"  shouted  Dick.  "We  want  to 
hear.   What  did  he  say?" 

"Oh,  a  lot  of  disagreeable  things.  He  made  me 
feel  as  if  I  had  touched  a  snake.  And  then  Mary 
came  in." 

"What  is  she  like,  Marjorie?"  cried  the  Lewis 
girls.  "She  must  be  very  queer  living  in  that  awful 
place." 

"Do  you  think  she  is  afraid  of  that  dreadful  old 
man?"  Dolly  asked  in  a  hushed  whisper,  as  if  the 
being  so  described  might  be  somewhere  within 
hearing. 

Marjorie  answered  both  questions  together. 
"She  seemed  a  good  dtal  like  a  wooden  doll,  and 


Marjorie  Desciubbs  Her  Visit.  39 

a  doll  wouldn't  show  fear,"  declared  Marjorie; 
"but  I'm  sure  she  is  afraid.  She's  coming  to- 
morrow, though,  and  you'll  seel" 

"Oh,  Marjorie!"  cried  the  girls. 

"You  don't  mean  that  she's  coming  here,  to  May- 
fair?"  broke  from  Jack. 

"She's  coming  to  our  house,  not  to  the  field," 
answered  Marjorie.  "You  do  ask  stupid  questions 
sometimes,  Tack,  though  you  are  in  philosophy.  Is 
that  what  you  call  your  class?" 

"You  wouldn't  understand  if  I  told  you,"  re- 
torted Jack ;  "girls  never  learn  any  of  those  things." 

"Weil,  they  don't  want  to,  anyway,"  snapped 
Marjorie. 

"Do  stop  scrapping  with  Jack  and  get  on  with 
your  story,  Marjorie,"  interposed  Dick. 

"There's  not  much  more  to  tell.  Mother  says 
Mary  has  had  a  lonely,  miserable  life.  So  you  must 
all  be  nice  to  her.  Some  of  your  fine  college  airs 
will  do  for  her.  Jack,  because  she  seems  almost 
grown-up." 

Jack  reddened,  catching  Marie  Lewis*  eye. 

"I'm  glad  to  hear  she  has  some  sense,"  replied 
Jack;  "we  have  too  many  kids  around  here  as 
it  is." 

"I  don't  know  whether  she  has  sense  or  not!" 


40       Marjorie  Describes  Her  Visit. 

cried  Marjorie.  "Aii  grown-up  people  arft  not 
sensible,  any  more  tnan  boys  that  pretend  to  be." 

"Oh,  do  stop,  Marjorie,"  urged  Dick ;  "we  want 
to  hear  you  tell  us  about  this  girl.  You're  all  right 
so  long  as  you  don't  get  sparring  with  Jack." 

Madge,  gratified  by  this  bit  of  flattery  from  her 
cousin  Dick,  who  was,  perhaps,  the  most  popular 
boy  in  Ironton,  went  on  with  her  story: 

"Mary  Pemberton  is  to  stay  a  week  and  we  must 
do  all  we  can  to  make  her  enjoy  herself." 

"We'll  give  her  a  good  time!"  cried  Dick;  "won't 
we,  Jack?" 

"The  best  we  know  how,"  agreed  his  chum,  "but 
say,  Marjorie,  is  the  girl  good-looking  or  joily?" 

"Oh,  what  do  looks  matter?"  objected  Dick. 
"And  she  can't  be  very  jolly  living  in  a  hole  like 
that  with  that  old  beast.  Marjorie  said  she  was  a 
good  deal  like  a  doll." 

"Well,  we'll  stir  her  up  a  bit,"  declared  Jack. 
"What  do  you  think,  Miss  Marie?  Ironton's  a 
pretty  good  place  to  have  fun  in?" 

"I'm  sure  we  like  it,"  said  Marie,  smiling  at 
him  in  her  sweet-tempered  way;  "don't  we, 
Florence?" 

Florence  assented  somewhat  hastily.  She  was 
busy  questioning  Madge  on  her  own  account. 


Marjorie  Describes  Her  Visit.  41 

"You  didn't  see  anything  strange  or  hear  any 
queer  sounds?"  she  asked. 

"I  certainly  didn't  hear  anything  at  all  except  old 
Mr.  Pembe-ton's  voice  and  a  few  words  from 
Mary,  and  I  saw  only  what  I  told  you — white-haired 
people  with  pale  faces." 

"But  was  the  house  different  from  other  places — 
inside,  I  mean?" 

"It  was  dark  and  rather  dreary,"  Marjorie 
declared,  letting  her  thoughts  go  back  over  the  in- 
cidents of  her  short  visit;  "there  was  a  very  big 
hall,  with  a  winding  staircase  like  those  we  read 
of  in  books,  and  a  great  clock,  but  I  think  it  was 
stopped;  and  the  room  we  were  in  was  dark  and 
rather  ghostly  too." 

"We  must  find  out  what  kind  of  girl  this  Mary 
Pemberton  really  is,"  observed  practical  Dolly  Mar- 
tin, "before  we  can  arrange  any  plans  for  her  enter- 
tainment." 

During  Marjorie's  description  of  the  house  Dolly 
had  been  in  conference  with  the  boys  on  this  very 
subject,  for  each  of  them  had  been  suggesting  some- 
thing which  might  be  done  to  enliven  the  time  of 
Mary's  visit. 

"You  see,"  she  went  on,  "she  may  like  grown-up 
things  and  not  care  at  all  for  out-door  games.  She 


42       Makjokie  Dbscribbs  Her  Visit. 


may  not  like  Mayfair  as  well  as  we  do,  and  she  may 
not  want  to  go  climbing  fences  and  getting  her 
frocks  torn  in  the  woods." 

"If  she's  such  a  muff  as  that,"  grumbled  Luke 
Morris/'I  wish  she'd  stay  at  home.  It  will  be  a  week 
wasted  and  the  simimer  vacation's  short  enough." 

"Can't  you  tell  us  scxnething  about  her?"  in- 
quired Jack. 

"Just  as  much  as  you  could  tell  what  was  behind 
a  mask,"  Marjcrie  declared,  proud  of  her  distinction 
as  story-teller. 

"Well,  it  will  be  rather  exciting  to  find  out  what 
is  behind  the  mask,"  observed  quiet  Hugh  Graham. 

"I  bet  she  won't  be  much  fun!"  pronounced  Ned 
Wallace. 

"She'll  be  a  regular  wet  blanket,  I  know,"  added 
Luke,  the  grumbler. 

"Shame,  Luke,"  reproved  Hugh,  "it's  mean  to 
talk  about  a  girl  like  that  and  especially  before  you 
know  anything  about  her." 

And  Hugh  flushed  up  to  the  roots  of  his  sandy 
hair,  as  he  spdce  thus  generously  in  defence  of 
the  absent. 

"She  may  be  as  nice  as  anything,"  volunteered 
George  Wallace,  "because  everytb'.ig  will  be  new 
to  her." 


Masjoub  Dncsnn  Hn  Vmr.  43 


"Whether  she's  fun  or  not,"  said  Jack,  the 
autocrat,  "we've  got  to  do  the  best  we  can  to  make 
her  fed  at  home." 

All  agreed  with  this  sentinwnt,  and  Marjorie,  re- 
verting to  a  previous  question,  declared  thought- 
fully: 

"As  for  her  looks,  she's  a  good  deal  like  the 

picture." 

"What  picture?"  cried  Jack.  "If  that  isn't  like 

a  girl !" 

"The  picture  that  was  in  the  room  where  we 
sat,"  Marjorie  explained,  ignoring  Jack's  insinua- 
tion. "It  was  Mary  Pemberton's  mother.  But  she 
was  young,  very  young,  wearing  a  ball-dress  and 
carrying  a  bunch  of  roses  in  her  hands." 

"Does  your  mother  remember  that  lady  dressed 
like  that  and  looking  young?"  asked  Hugh,  who 
had  imagination. 

"Yes,  mother  says  she  remembers  the  younger 
Mrs.  Pemberton  loddng  exactly  like  that  at  a  ball 
in  that  very  house." 

"A  ball  at  Hornby?"  sniffed  Dick.  'TOiy,  Mar- 
jorie, you're  stuffing  us." 

"Ask  mother,  if  you  don't  believe  me!" 

"Why,  I  thought  it  was  always  shut  up,  like  a 
jail,"  added  Luke  Morris. 


44       Marjorib  Describes  Her  Visit. 


"I  don't  think  it  was,  long  ago,"  Marjoric 
declared. 

"It's  a  wonder  the  old  ogre  lets  the  girl  out  now," 
Jack  observed  thoughtfully,  plucking  a  dandelion 
to  pieces. 

"He  called  himself  an  ogreV  cried  Marjorie, 
laughing  at  the  recollection,  "and  he  is  like  one." 

"Every  one  says  he  keeps  Miss  Mary  shut  up," 
went  on  Jack,  "and  only  lets  her  out  into  the  garden 
about  three  or  four  times  a  year." 

"Oh,  come  now,  Jack,  draw  it  mild!"  objected 
Dick ;  "I  guess  he  lets  her  out  every  day.  But  the 
gard  '3  a  rum  sort  of  place — ^nothing  except 
thistles  and  dog-weed  grow  there." 

"I  saw  it  more  than  once  when  I  was  a  boy," 
began  Jack. 

"Wh(  you  were  a  boy!"  interrupted  Marjorie, 
with  a   isdainful  snifif. 

"Yes,  about  your  age,  Marjorie,"  Jack  went  on, 
coolly,  "do  you  remember,  Dick?" 

"Yes,  you  got  up  on  my  shoulder  the  first  time 
we  went  to  look  over  the  wall,  and  you  were  so 
scared  that  you  tumbled  down  and  never  gave  me 
my  turn  to  look  over." 

"Rot !"  cried  Jack,  reddening.  "I  saw  the  old  chap 
there  and  I  didn't  want  him  to  b^n  jawing  at  me." 


Marjome  Describes  Her  Visit.  45 


"You  said  it  looked  like  a  churchyard  and  gave 
you  a  chill!"  persisted  F'^Jc. 

"I  was  a  youngster  then,  and  I  suppose  I  had 
fancies  like  other  kids,"  explained  Jack,  "eh,  Mar- 
jone? 

"You  hadn't  any  like  me,"  cried  Marjorie, 
quickly,  "because  you're  altogether  different. 
You're  always  thinking  about  yourself,  for  one 

tiling." 

"They  say  children  and  fools  speak  the  truth," 
declared  Dick,  with  a  grin;  "so,  that's  one  for  you, 
Jack,  old  fellow." 

Jack  didn't  take  a  joke  as  well  as  some  of  the 
others,  but  there  was  nothing  to  be  said,  so  he 
turned  to  find  consolation  in  Marie's  little  lady- 
like sentences  and  Florence's  good-fellowship. 

And  they  all  sat  a  while  longer,  as  the  lingering 
summer  gloaming  turned  into  night,  and  the  stars 
began  to  shine  out,  with  a  mellow,  golden  radiance, 
in  the  deep  blue  overhead.  They  fell  into  a  pleasant 
talk  after  fh&t,  from  which  all  strife,  even  of  jest, 
was  banished,  and  into  their  minds  came  the  dreams 
half-melancholy,  half-joyous,  which  beset  the  path 
of  youth.  Shadows  or  premonitions  of  the 
events  that  are  to  make  up  each  dawning  life. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


THE  COMING  OF  MARY  PEMBBRTON. 

MARjORiE  was  dressed  early  the  next  afternoon 
and  out  upon  the  steps,  awaiting  the  ar- 
rival of  her  visitor.  It  seemed  to  her  that  the  day 
was  very  long  and  that  the  appointed  hour  would 
never  come.  The  old  man  had  mentioned  four 
o*cIock,  and  Marjorie  knew  that  Mary  would  be 
fmnctual;  but  she  was  not  sure  whether  the  little 
girl  would  leave  Hornby  Hall  at  the  time  named 
or  arrive  at  their  house.  She  remembered,  with  a 
shiver,  the  old  man's  expression  as  he  had  declared 
that  Mary  was  to  return  home  again  the  same 
day  and  hour  in  the  following  ^^eek 

At  length  the  time  drew  near  when  the  expected 
visitor  should  arrive;  Mary  left  Hornby  Hall  pre- 
cisely at  four  o'clock  and  the  half-hour  which  it 
took  her  to  reach  the  Mortons'  gate  was  to  the 
impatien   vlarjorie  the  longest  she  had  ever  known. 

46 


Tbb  Coming  of  Maey  Pbmbbston.  47 


She  began  even  to  fear  that  at  the  last  moment  Mr. 
Pemberton  had  kept  his  grandcliild  at  home.  At 
precisely  half  past  four  there  was  the  sound  of 
wheels  coming  rapidly  up  the  road,  a  great  cloud 
of  dust,  and  Marjorie,  with  beating  heart,  saw 
such  a  carriage  approaching  as  could  have  belonged 
only  to  the  Pembertons.  It  was  black  and  dingy, 
and  suggested  nothing  so  much  as  a  prison  van 
which  Marjorie  had  once  seen  in  a  gr«it  city.  Such 
as  it  was,  it  cimt  on  with  sureness  to  the  gate  and, 
turning  in,  drove  round  the  pleasa*'  .'^  riage  drive, 
gay  with  its  borders  -n  flowers. 

In  this  strange  vehicle  sat  Marv  Pcmberton,  pale 
and  evidently  bev,  ildered.  She  was  dressed  in  a 
dull  brown  frock;  her  fiair  was  drawn  tight  back 
from  her  face  in  a  most  unyouthful  fashion.  But 
Marjorie  clapped  lier  hands  for  glee  at  the  first 
sight  of  Mary,  and  ran  down  to  open  the  carriage 
door.  As  a  consequence  of  this  impulsive  move- 
ment, the  old  white-haired  coachman  remained 
motionless  in  his  seat.  Jerry  came  from  the  st2i>le- 
yard  and  removed  from  the  back  of  the  carriage 
a  large  valise.  Then  the  old  coachman  solemnly 
touched  his  hat  and  drove  his  lumbering  van  out 
the  gate,  leaving  Mary  bewildered  at  the  foot 
of  the  steps.  She  stood  still  and  looked  about  her — 


48      The  Coming  of  Mary  Pemberton. 

looked  at  the  flowers  in  the  beds,  and  the  broad, 
open  field  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  road,  which 
served  as  a  meeting-place  for  the  small  circle  of 
boys  and  girls  who  were  almost  daily  associates. 
They  called  the  place  Mayfair,  for  some  unknown 
reason,  and  in  Mayfair  a  certain  number  were  even 
then  assembled  to  watch  this  marvelous  arrival. 

Mary  at  length  drew  a  deep  breath  as  one  long 
shut  up  in  a  dungeon  might  have  done  when 
restored  to  the  light  of  day.  Then  she  turned  to 
Marjorie  and  spoke  the  strangest  and  yet  the  most 
natural  words: 

"I  don't  think  I  can  ever  go  back  there!" 

"What  will  you  do?"  inquired  Marjorie,  awe- 
stricken  but  sympathetic.  "They  will  come  to  get 
you." 

A  frightened  look  passed  over  Mary's  face,  as 
she  said  wearily : 
"It  is  no  use  my  saying  I  won't  go  back,  for,  of 

course,  I  shall  be  forced  to  go." 

"You  might  hide  somewhere,"  suggested  Mar- 
jorie, doubtfully. 

"Mrs.  Miles  would  find  me  anywhere,"  declared 
Mary,  turning  still  paler,  as  if  the  search  had  al- 
ready begun. 

"Who  is  Mrs.  Miles?"  Marjorie  asked,  breath- 


The  Coming  of  Mary  Pemberton.  49 

lessly.  She  remembered  how  the  old  man  had 
uttered  that  name. 

"Ah,  she  is — "  began  Mary,  checking  herself  ab- 
ruptly with  a  shudder.  "Perhaps  she  will  hear 
even  here." 

Marjoric  looked  around  her  uneasily.  It  was 
quite  like  living  in  a  story-bode  with  evil 
enchanters  or  wicked  fairies.  Decidedly  this 
strange  girl  had  brought  a  new  and  mysterious  at- 
mosphere into  Marjorie's  happy  but  somewhat 
prosaic  life.  At  that  moment  Mrs.  Morton  ap- 
peared upon  the  teps. 

"Welcome,  ^*  ry,  welcome,  my  dear,  for  your 
dead  mother's  sv.zt  and  for  your  own." 

As  she  kissed  her,  she  added: 

"Forget  all  your  troubles  for  this  one  week,  at 
least.    Try  not  to  remember  that  you  have  any." 

"But  after  that?"  inquired  Mary,  fixing  a  pair 
of  solemn  eyes  upon  Mrs.  Morton. 

"After  that,  who  knows?  Something  may 
happen,"  cried  Marjorie ;  "don't  let  us  lose  a  minute 
of  your  time  here.  I  have  so  much  to  show  you 
and  all  the  girls  and  boys  want  to  know  you  and 
we're  going  to  do  all  sorts  of  jolly  things  while 
you  stay." 

Marjorie  was  rather  breathless  from  talking  so 


50     The  Coming  of  Mary  Pemberton. 

last,  but  she  held  Mary's  hand  in  hers  and  led 
her  tip  to  a  pretty  room,  next  to  Marjorie's  own. 
It  had  pink  and  vvhite  curtains,  a  chiffonier  of  the 
same  colors,  a  long  mirror  in  a  bright  frame,  half 
a  dozen  pictures,  and  an  atmosphere  of  brightness 
such  as  Mary  had  never  breathed.  She  looked 
about  her  with  much  the  same  bewildered  air  as 
she  had  worn  on  alighting  from  the  carriage.  Her 
face  twitched  as  if  from  pain,  and  the  tears  forced 
themselves  frOTi  her  eyes  and  fell  down  her  chedcs 
to  her  ugly,  dingy ^frock. 

"We  will  never  let  you  go  back !"  cried  Marjoric 
impulsively.  "You  can  just  let  Mr.  Pemberton 
keep  his  old  money  and  everything  and  if  Mrs. 
Miles  comes  here — well,  I'll  get  the  boys  to  throw 
stones  at  her." 

This  was  an  awful  threat  but  it  made  Mary 
laugh  in  the  midst  of  her  tears. 

"You  don't  know  Mrs.  Miles!"  she  cried.  A 
young  maid  came  in  to  open  the  valise,  which 
Jerry  had  brought  up,  and  to  know  if  there  was 
anything  else  she  could  do.  Pleasant  bright  faces 
everywhere.  The  gloom  and  darkness  and  dreari- 
ness all  gone,  and  color,  gay,  bright  color  all 
around.  Marjorie  left  Mary  for  a  little  while  to 
give  her  an  opportunity  to  change  her  clothes,  bid- 


The  Coming  of  Mary  Pemberton.  51 

ding  her  come  down  to  the  front  steps  just  as 
soon  as  she  was  ready.  Mary's  sallow  face  grew 
red  as  she  turned  over  her  dingy  frocks.  She  had 
not  even  so  much  as  a  ribbon  with  which  to  brighten 
them  up.  And  yet  she  was  only  a  girl,  with  a 
girl's  natural  love  of  pretty  things.  The  feeling 
had  b^n  to  awaken  within  her  the  moment  she 
had  stepped  out  of  the  Pemberton  carriage,  in 
sight  of  the  gay-colored  flower  beds.  She  sighed 
as  she  brushed  out  her  long  hair,  which  was  glossy 
and  abundant.  She  never  thought  of  Ltting  it  fall 
loose  about  her,  after  the  fashion  of  Marjorie's. 
She  braided  it  up  very  tightly,  as  Mrs.  Miles  had 
instructed  her  to  do,  drawing  it  back  from  the 
temples.  The  eyes  that  looked  out  of  the  pale  face 
were  soft  brown,  like  those  of  the  picture,  with 
yellow  lights  in  them.  The  mouth  was  large  and 
the  nose  somewhat  out  of  proportion,  defects  which 
were  also  visible  in  the  portrait. 

Having  completed  her  toilet,  Mary  went  slowly 
downstairs.  She  paused  on  the  broad  landing  to 
stare  out  from  the  cheerful  window,  shaded  by 
bright-hued  curtains  and  giving  view  upon  a  lovely 
garden,  so  unlike  that  dreary  spot  which  the  girl 
had  known  by  that  name.  On  the  staircase  walls 
hung  pictures,  before  each  of  which  Mary  paused. 


52      The  Coming  of  Mary  Pembertoh. 

Everything  here  was  a  revelation  to  her.  At  last 

she  reached  the  outer  steps,  where  Marjorie  sat 

impatiently  waiting. 
"Oh,  ist  that  you,  Mary,  at  last?"  she  cried. 

"Come  and  sit  down  a  minute  till  wc  decide  what 

we  shall  do  first" 
Mary  seated  herself  beside  Marjorie,  but  it  did 

not  take  her  very  long  to  decide  what  she  would 

prefer  to  do. 

"I  would  like  to  go  into  the  garden,"  she  said, 

"if  it's  all  the  same  to  you." 

This  decision  came  partly  from  force  of  habit, 
for  almost  the  only  pleasure  in  the  girl's  dull  life, 
hitherto,  had  been  her  daily  walks  in  that  dreary 
patch  of  ground  dignified  by  the  name  of  garden 
at  Hornby  Hall.  But  it  also  came  from  the 
glimpses  which  Mary  had  had  from  the  stair  win- 
dow of  delightful  paths,  winding  amongst  glowing 
masses  of  variegated  color,  which  had  made  the 
Mortons'  garden  seem  like  some  enchanted  region. 

"We'll  go  there  first,"  cried  Marjorie,  "and, 
then,  I  want  you  to  see  my  pony.  You  may  ride 
him  some  day,  if  you're  not  afraid ;  and  the  rabbits 
and  the  new  piggies  in  the  farmyard  behind  the 
stables,  and  my  own  big  dog,  Nero.  He's  just 
splendid." 


The  Coming  of  Mary  Pemberton.  53 

Talking  thus,  Marjorie  reached  the  garden  gate 
and  presently  the  two  found  themselves  amongst 

the  glories  of  rose-laden  bushes,  pink  and  white 
and  yellow  and  deep  crimson.  Carnations  were 
there  in  clustering  masses,  and  tulips  made  rich 
spots  of  color,  while  lilies  of  the  valley,  hyacinths, 
heliotrope,  and  sweet  pea,  vied  with  each  other  in 
perfuming  the  atmosphere.  A  garden,  indeed,  is 
a  wonderful  place  even  to  the  ordinary  observer, 
but  to  this  child  it  was  as  a  new  Eden,  the  dawn- 
ing of  a  new  world. 

**Pick  as  many  flowers  as  you  like,**  Marjorie 
exclaimed,  "for  the  gardener  says  it's  better  for 
the  btishes." 

"Pick  them?"  echoed  Mary  in  amazonait  "Do 
you  mean  thi-t  I  can  pluck  them  off  the  bushes?** 

She  had  not  thought  it  possible  to  so  much  as 
touch  one  of  these  radiant  objects.  At  Hornby  it 
had  been  a  crime  to  pick  so  much  as  a  leaf  from  a 
tree.  Once  Mrs.  Miles  had  come  up  suddenly  be- 
hind the  girl  and  had  bent  her  fingers  backward  till 
she  screamed  with  pain,  for  the  simple  offence  of 
touching  the  soft,  green  leaves  of  a  young  tree. 
The  tree  had  shot  up  unaccountably,  as  is  some- 
times the  case,  and  had  seemed  to  thrive  in  the  un- 
promising soil.    Mary  had  loved  it  as  if  it  were 


54     Th«  Coming  of  Mary  Pembi»tok. 

a  living  thing.  But  after  that  occurrence  Mrs. 
Miles  caused  the  tree  to  be  uprooted,  and  the  tender 
green  of  the  leaves  met  the  tired  eyes  no  more. 

"I  think  I  will  take  one  of  these,"  Mary  ventured, 
pointing  to  a  dark  red  rose  with  heart  of  fire.  The 
vivid  coloring  charmed  her. 

"Take  a  lot,  as  many  as  you  like!"  cried  Mar- 
jorie.  "And  wait,  I'm  going  to  fasten  a  bunch  of 
them  in  your  frock.  They  will  look  so  well  against 
the  brown." 

Mary  blushed,  partly  with  mortification  at  the 
plain  appearance  of  her  dress,  partly  with  pleasure 
at  Marjorie's  idea,  and  she  readily  submitted  to  be 
decorated  by  her  new  friend  with  some  of  the 
choicest  of  the  red  roses. 

"I  would  like  to  let  down  your  :i'»ir,"  went  on 
Marjorie,  emboldened  Sy  the  success  of  her  first 
experiment;  "oh,  may  I,  please?  it  is  such  a  pretty 
color.  It  will  show  so  much  better  if  I  shake  it 
out  loose." 

Mary  drew  back,  at  first,  in  terror.  What  if 
Mrs.  Miles  should  see  her  with  loosened  hair  and 
roses  at  her  throat?  But  she  remembered  presently 
that  it  was  scarcely  possible  for  Mrs.  Miles  to  see 
her  in  the  Mortons'  garden,  and  she  gave  a  sigh 
of  relief. 


The  Coming  of  Mary  Pemberton.  55 

"You  are  free  here  and  can  do  as  you  please," 
urged  Marjorie.  Mary  hesitated  for  only  another 
minute;  then  she  sat  down  upon  a  garden  bench 
and  let  Marjorie  unfasten  her  hair.  Down  it  came 
rippling  and  shimmering  over  the  brown  frock, 
amid  many  exclamations  of  delight  from  Marjorie. 

"Oh,  you  are  such  a  dear,  and  you  do  lo<^  so 
pretty  now,"  cried  the  impulsive  girl. 

"Pretty,  oh,  no!"  objected  Mary. 

"Yes,  you  do  look  pretty,  doesn't  she,  papa?" 
repeated  Marjorie,  appealing  suddenly  to  a  man 
who  just  then  came  toward  the  two  girls. 

Mary  started  to  her  feet  in  terror,  while  the  man 
stood  looking.  She  had  not  yet  got  over  the  habit 
of  being  terrified. 

"Eh,  what?"  said  the  newcomer,  advancing 
neai-er.  ".What  did  you  say,  Marjorie,  and  who 
is  this?" 

Before  Marjorie  could  say  a  word  he  answered 
his  ©wn  question. 

"Bless  my  soul,  I  need  not  ask.  Come  and  j^ivc  me 
a  kiss,  Mary ;  your  mother  was  my  dearest  cousin." 

"Cousin!"  cried  Marjorie,  astonished;  "I  never, 
never  knew  Mary  was  a  relation  of  ours." 

"Yes,  she  is,"  declared  Mr.  Morton,  "and,  egad, 
how  the  years  do  pass.    I  saw  you  a  toddling 


56      The  Coming  of  Mary  Temberton. 

infant  and  now  you  are  just  Bessie  over  again, 
eyes  and  hair  and  all."  He  mentally  added :  "Only 

not  so  pretty."  For  Bessie,  though  no  beauty  in 
reality,  had  been  beautiful  in  the  eyes  of  her  boy 
cousin,  who  had  dearly  loved  her. 

"And  you  have  come  to  make  a  long  stay,  I 
hope." 

"Just  a  week,  sir,"  Mary  answered.  Though  not 
shy,  she  was  more  timid  with  Mr.  Morton  than 
with  either  Marjorie  or  her  mother. 

"A  week,  and  then  to  go  back  to  Hornby?"  Mr, 
Morton  exclaimed.  "We  must  see  if  we  can  not 
get  a  c(»nmutation  of  sentence." 

He  laughed  and  presently  added: 

"We  must  really  turn  the  week  into  a  month,  if 
any  magic  can  do  it.  Meanwhile,  Marjorie,  take 
good  care  of  my  little  cousin.  Let  her  have  all  the 
amusement  she  wants,  and,  of  course,  she  must 
have  some  pocket-money." 

Mary  blushed.  She  had  never  handled  a  penny 
in  her  life. 

"Old  men  like  your  grandfather  forget  they  were 
ever  young,"  went  on  Mr.  Morton,  "but  I  know 
what  it  is  to  be  left  short  of  funds.  So,  my  dear, 
you'll  have  to  let  Cousin  Harry  play  fairy  god- 
father, or  he  won't  be  pleased  at  all." 


The  Coming  of  Mary  Pemberton.  57 

So  saying,  Mr.  Morton  todc  from  his  podwt  a 
couple  of  bills  and  forced  them  into  the  girl's  hami. 
"You  may  want  them  in  some  of  the  frolics 

which  Marjorie  is  going  to  get  up,"  he  dbaerved; 
"money  always  helps  along  the  fun." 

He  stood  thoughtfully  a  moment  with  his  hands 
in  his  pockets,  then  suddenly  roused  himself  from 
the  reverie  to  say: 

"I  remember,  as  if  it  were  yesterday,  when  your 
grandmother,  dear  old  soul,  tipped  me  when  I 
went  to  spend  my  Christmas  at  Hornby.  Dear  me ! 
Dear  me!" 

As  Mr.  Mortem  spoke,  the  sdfsame  thing 
happened  as  before  in  the  room  upstairs.  The  big 
tears  streamed  down  Mary's  cheeks,  falling  upon 
her  dull  frock. 

"What,  you  don't  mind,  I  hope!"  cried  Mr. 
Morton,  in  consternation.  "And  you  will  keep  the 
bills?" 

"Oh,  no,  I  don't  mind,"  cried  Mary;  "it  isn't 
that  at  all.  I  will  keep  the  money,  because  I  know 
you  want  me  to  do  that  and  I  will  be  happy  for 
this  week,  at  least." 

"That's  right,"  said  Mr.  Mortor,  a  little  uneasy 
at  this  outburst,  "and  I'm  to  be  your  banker  if  you 
want  any  girl's  fixings." 


58     The  Coming  of  Mary  Pemberton. 

As  Mr.  Morton  passed  on,  Mary  stood  fingering 
the  bills  and  smiling  softly  after  the  retreating 
figure: 

"You  ought  to  be  very  happy,  living  with  people 
like  that,"  she  said  to  Marjorie. 

"So  I  am,"  agreed  Marjorie,  "except  when  I 
get  cross  sometimes  and  imagine  that  the  world's 
all  upside  down." 


CHAPTER  V. 


MARY  IS  INTKOOUCED  TO  MAYFAXE. 

THERE  was  intense  curiosity  amongst  the  May- 
fair  boys  and  girh,  as  they  called  themselves, 
to  see  the  new  arrival.  Any  one  from  Hornby  was 
a  novelty  not  to  be  ignored  and  Ironton.  like  other 
villages,  was  ever  on  the  lookout  for  anything  new. 
So  that  many  of  the  folk  who  made  up  its  popu- 
lation found  they  had  business  in  the  direction  of 
the  Morton  house  that  evening  and  passed  there 
in  groups,  keeping  sharp  eyes  open  for  a  glimpse 
of  the  girl  who  had  been  kept  ^  many  years  a 
virtual  prisoiwr  at  Hornby.  Why,  even  the  ticket- 
of-leave  man  who  had  passed  through  the  village 
a  few  days  bei^.  '-  was  not  a  greater  curiosity,  ani 
every  boy  had  managed  to  interview  him  and  every 
girl  had  peeped  at  him  fr<»n  secure  places,  irhile 

59  , 


6o      Mary  is  IntkoduoMI  to  Matvah. 


their  elders  had  stare,  curioosly  at  the  puor 
wretch. 

Popular  sentiment  being  thus  arotised  in  that 
rustic  corner  of  the  w€H*ld,  it  is  little  wondc  that 
the  frequenters  of  Mayfa'r,  which  was  the  priv.  e 
pr<q)erty  of  the  Mortons  .nd  could  not  be  tres- 
passed upon,  felt  themselves  privilege  ileed,  and 
awaited  with  eager  anticipation  at  coming 
amongst  th»  m  )f  'be  newly  released. 

While  tl.  •>    vuitcd.  Jack  and  Die,  .  who  were 
older  and  ha<!  heard    ore  ■■  r  the  lot  '  ■  )ssip,  enter- 
tained the  ot  ler-      d  esj.eci  -'I    the  i^ewis  girls, 
who  were  newc  >mers.  i  /  reis  ir-n  ^  ail  ihe  o  1 
tales,  some  of  thetn  '.lood-cun'  ini,'  and  of  r  irse, 
man^  false,  whicii  were  told  <  f  iii    iby  Hall.  So 
that  it  was  as  well  the  sun  was  shining  and  the 
birds  singing  on  that  lovely  d  iiemoon  of  Mary' 
coming,  or  there  would  have  been  shivers  an* 
shakes  amongst  the  s^rls,  and  possibly  sonv  th 
boys  would  have  run  home  a  little  mor       it  y 
than  usually  and  declimd  to  linger  in  uit 
spots. 

"I  guess  Jaci  and  I  v  re  pretty  th- ;  igiiiy 
scared  one  night  when  wc  \ve^  arou.  '  here." 
honest  Di  <  declared,  w-ind  4  iij  .1  thr.  ui  nar- 
rative: "1  tell  yuu,  we  cut  .ut  and  ran  for  1 


Masy  is  Iwt«ooucid  to  Mayfaol  6i 


Hut  T  •  lour^v  'yny<  were  never  afruiJ,"  put  in 
;.inc  LcA'is     .    Ay,  "I  thought  it  was  only 
girls." 

Not  all  girls  "  '-orrectcd  Dick.    "Marjorie  is 
plucky  as  any  boy    It  \v(Md  be  pretty  hard  to 
fric  ten  I     but  I  gu-ss  t  cn  she  would  be  afraid 

at  i  lornby.' 

"It  wasn  i  exac  hai  ve  were  afraid,"  .  ck 
expla  red  :  "it  '        rt      nervous  feeling 

'h,  t  came  o      u^  old     okery.  There's 

,  !    >  of  ibout  the  platv    Some  say  it's 

ha         f  »^     .h«u  there  was  a  murder  corns  itted 

A  r     cried  Marie  Lewis.    "How  -er- 

'v  '\n  ui!" 
"Hu         'lispered  Dick,  "they're  coming 
Ja  er  .yes  turned  upon  the  two 

just         g  furth  frwn  the  Mortons*  gate.  ^ 
ow;       asity  overcame  his  desire  still  further  to 
tere    and  terrify  the  city  girl  beside  him.  For 
er  SHiart  clothes  and  young  lady  airs  appealed  to 
more  than  to  any  other  boy  in  Ironton.  He 
jr<        nis  feet  with  his  con.i  i^nions,  who  were  all 
ed  now.    All  eyes  were  turned  upon  the 
sal     .  faoe  and  slender  fieure  of  Mary  Pemberton. 
"Not  so  bad-looking  after  all,"  Dick  whispered. 


62      Mary  is  Introduced  to  Mayfair. 

The  crimson  roses  and  the  excitement  had  given 
color  to  the  dark  face  and  the  eyes  were  glowing, 
too,  with  the  influence  of  the  new,  happy  life 
around  her. 

"She  lodes  somewhat  different  frwn  what  I  ex- 
pected," replied  Jade  in  the  same  low  voiw,  "and 
from — ^the  rest  of  the  girls," 

He  spoke  slowly,  meditatively,  and  Mary  Pem- 
berton  having  drawn  near  caught  the  boy's  gaze 
fixed  upon  her.  She  did  not  smile,  but  regarded 
h»m  gravely  and  silently.  Her  eyes  travelled  from 
him  to  Dicky  Dalton,  who  felt  a  sudden  chivalrous 
pity  for  the  poor  maiden  escaped  for  this  brief  holi- 
day from  the  ogre.  She  next  fixed  her  glance  of 
quiet  scrutiny  upon  Hugh  Graham,  who  flushed 
uncomfortably  imder  it,  and  upon  the  three  other 
boys,  who  stood  leaning  over  one  another's  shoul- 
ders to  get  a  good  look  at  her.  Marjorie,  leading 
her  forward,  introduced  her  first  to  the  girls,  who 
all  greeted  her  effusively,  offering  her  a  seat 
amongst  them  on  the  bench  and  holding  her  hand, 
each  in  turn,  while  warm-hearted  Dollie  Martin 
put  an  arm  about  her.  Then  it  came  the  turn  of 
the  boys  to  be  severally  presented  to  her.  She 
again  observed  them  with  a  gaze  of  deliberate  ob- 
servation.   Then  she  turned  to  Marjorie,  with  a 


Mary  is  Introduced  to  Mayfahl  63 

laugh  which  was  low  and  tremulous,  for  lat^ter 
was  new  to  her  though  she  had  inherited  fran  her 
mother  a  keen  sense  of  humor. 

"I  never  saw  a  boy  before,"  she  remarked,  "and 
they  certainly  are  odd-looking!" 

The  boys  looked  at  one  another  uncomfortably. 
Even  Jack  was  disconcerted  and  the  others  shifted 
uneasily  from  one  foot  to  the  other.  It  was  so 
singular,  this  being  inspected  by  a  creature  who 
had  never  seen  a  boy  before. 

"You,'  she  said,  addressing  Jack,  "are  quite 
tall,  almost  a  man." 

This  speech  ticklea  Dick  so  much  that  he  nearly 
choked  in  trying  not  to  laugh  alond.  He  regained 
his  composure  only  by  a  mighty  effort  which  left 
him  red  in  the  face. 

"I  wonder,"  Mary  said  next,  with  the  same  calm 
air  of  one  desiring  information,  "why  boys  should 
wear  anything  so  very  tight  and  high  around  tfieir 
necks.  It  must  be  very  unccnnfortable,  especially 
in  hot  weather." 

Her  remark  was  directed  with  special  reference 
to  Jack,  who  looked  wrathfully  around,  and  seeing 
Dick  convulsed  with  laughter  managed  to  give  him 
a  kick.  Marjorie  clapped  her  hands  in  delight  and 
laughed  outright 


64      Mary  is  Introduced  to  Mayfair. 

"Oh,  Mary!"  she  cried,  "Jack  is  awfully  proud 
of  his  high  collar;  he  thinks  it  makes  him  a  man." 

"Do  you  ?"  inquired  Mary,  fixing  her  grave  eyes 
steadily  upon  Jack.  She  had  no  thought  of  turning 
him  into  ridicule,  and  when  the  boy's  keen  glance 
had  told  him  that  such  was  the  case,  he  answered 
her  with  the  air  of  jiood-humored  patronage  he 
always  used  to  girls: 

"Marjorie  will  always  have  her  jcAst.  You 
mustn't  mind  her.  She's  such  a  kid." 

"A  kid?"  Mary  repeated,  looking  around  help- 
lessly at  Marjorie. 

The  boys,  with  the  exception  of  Jack,  were  all 
laughing  by  this  time  and  engaged  in  various  ex- 
pedients to  conceal  the  fact.  They  had  never  heard 
any  one  talk  like  this  girl  before  and  it  struck  them 
as  so  very  droll  that  they  simply  could  not  restrain 
their  merriment. 

"Mary  doesn't  know  any  slang,"  said  Marjorie; 
*'I  don't  suppose  she  knows  even  what  slang  is." 

"I  know  hardly  anything,"  said  poor  Mary,  look- 
ing piteously  round  upon  the  group,  and  again  the 
tears  came  from  her  eyes  and  rolled  down  her 
chedcs,  "I  have  lived  so  differently  from  any  one 
of  you." 

Let  it  be  set  down  to  the  credit  of  the  Mayfair 


Mary  is  Introduced  to  Mayfaik.  65 

boys  and  girls  that  the  smiles  vanislwd  from  thdr 
faces.  Every  boy  present  was,  moreover,  ready 
from  that  moment  to  be  her  champion  and,  as  they 
expressed  it,  "to  punch  any  fellow's  head  that  h"  1 
a  word  to  say  against  her." 

"Never  mind,  Mary,"  spoke  out  Dick,  "we  can 
soon  tell  you  whatever  you  want  to  know  and  we're 
all  going  to  have  a  jolly  time  together  this  week, 
anyway." 

Mary's  face  brightened. 

"Everything  here  is  lovely  and  I  know  I  shall 
like  every  one  of  you,"  she  said,  more  impulsively 
than  one  would  have  supposed  she  could  have 
spoken.  "If  only  you  knew  what  it  is  to  see  the 
world  for  the  first  time." 

This  was  a  view  of  the  case  which  had  not  be- 
fore presented  itself,  and  scnne  of  those  present 
began  to  r^rd  Mary  with  a  new  interest,  not 
untinged  with  envy.  It  is  to  be  regretted,  too,  that 
Miss  Marie  Lewis  was  omscious  of  a  slight  resent- 
ment at  being  thrust  into  the  badcground,  whereas 
she  had  for  some  weeks  enjoyed  the  proud  position 
of  a  new  arrival  fresh  from  the  city,  dressed  in 
lov-'y  clothes,  and  1  very  pretty  little  girl  besides, 
the  most  correct  boarding-school  manners, 
it  is  rather  nice  to  feel  as  though  you  saw 


I,  .1 


III 


66      Mary  is  Introduced  to  Mayfair. 

everything  for  the  first  time,"  remarked  Dollie 
Martin,  who  sat  close  beside  Mary  and  already  felt 
very  kindly  toward  her.  "You  see  most  of  us  are 
rather  tired  of  everything  about  Ironton." 

"But,  imagine,  I  had  never  seen  a  girl  till 
Marjorie  came  the  other  day.  And  I  do  think 
they  are  so  nice,  much  prettier  than  boys." 

She  said  this  in  a  low  voice,  not  meant  for  the 
boys'  ears,  but  gleeful  Marjorie  at  once  announced 
it  aloud  with  a  flourish  of  trumpets.  The  boys 
were,  however,  very  tolerant  about  it  and  Mary  did 
not  sink  at  all  in  their  good  graces  because  of  her 
preference  for  girls. 

"If  only  I  hadn't  to  go  back!"  Mary  said  with  a 
sudden  pang  at  the  recollection  that  all  this  pleasant 
warmth  and  light  and  cheerful  companionship 
would  soon  disappear  as  i!  by  magic 

"Boys,"  cried  Marjorie,  "if  only  we  could  invent 
a  plan  to  keep  Mary  here  always." 

"Oh,  look  here,  you,"  said  Jade,  "you'll  get  into 
trouble.  They've  the  law  and  Miss  Pemberton's 
natural  guardians." 

"Unnatural,  you  mean!"  exclaimed  impetuous 

Marjorie. 

"Hush!"  whispered  Dollie  Martin,  for  she  saw 
a  flush  rising  to  Mary's  cheek. 


Masy  is  Introduced  to  Mayfaik.  67 

"Of  course/'  went  on  Mary,  **what  I  mean  is 
it's  very  lonely  at  the  Hall,  with  only  my  grand- 
father, who  is  old,  and  there  is  Mrs.  Miles — " 

She  had  spoken  with  a  curious  dignity  which  sat 
so  well  upon  this  grave  young  girl  with  the  air  of 
unusual  distinction  about  her,  even  in  her  plain  and 
homely  garb,  v'lich  dwarfed  Marie  Lewis'  pretti- 
ness  into  insignificance  and  made  even  Marjorie 
seem  hoydenish  and  unformed.  But  when  she 
came  to  the  name  of  Mrs.  Miles  she  stopped,  grow- 
ing pale  and  casting  a  troubled  lode  about  her. 

"Who  is  Mrs.  Miles?  Oh,  do  tell  us  about  her?" 
cried  Ihe  girls,  while  the  boys  likewise  drew  near, 
with  an  expressive  movement  of  eager  interest 

"Oh,  she's  just  Mrs.  Miles.  No  ont  could 
describe  her.  She's  hateful  and  terrible.  She  sees 
everythmg,  even  in  the  night  I  bdieve  she  is  like 
a  cat  and  can  see  in  the  dark.  She  hears  the 
smallest  sound  and  comts  creeping,  creeping,  catch- 
ing you  wh«i  you  least  expect  it  and  hurting  you 
in  whatever  way  she  can." 

The  children  listened  with  fascinated  interest, 
their  eyes  growing  rounder  and  wider.  It  was  like 
some  tale  of  witches  that  had  charmed  or  terrified 
their  childhood.  Though  Mary  thus  discoursed 
freely  of  Mrs.  Miles,  she  felt  an  odd  and  newly 


68      Mary  is  Inteoduced  to  Mayfair, 

awakened  sense  of  loyalty,  which  impelled  her  to 
say  nothing  against  her  grandfather,  who  terrified 
her  indeed  almost  as  much  as  did  this  formidable 
woman  and  was  the  power  behind  Mrs.  Miles,  in- 
spiring her  acts  or,  at  least,  sanctioning  them. 

"I  wish  you  all  could  see  her  and  hear  her  speak 
and  feel  her  bony  fingers  catching  you,  when  you 
don't  even  know  she's  near,"  went  on  Mary. 

"I  just  wish  we  could  catch  her!"  cried  Hugh 
Graham,  speaking  out  suddenly,  his  fair  face  aglow 
with  indignation.  "I  should  just  like  to  come  up 
behind  her  when  she  had  seized  y 

"That  would  be  jolly,"  said  Dick;  "I  should  like 
to  see  her  forced  to  dance  a  witch's  dance." 

"Or  ducked  in  a  horse  pond,  as  they  used  to  do 
with  witches,"  added  Jack. 

"Oh,  wouldn't  it  be  fun!"  cried  the  others. 
But  Marjorie  here  made  a  diversion. 
*'l  don't  think  it's  good  for  you,  Mary,  to  be 
thinking  so  much  of  that  awful  wcmian,"  she  said. 
"It  would  be  far  better  to  play  while  you  are  here 
and  enjoy  every  moment  of  the  time.  Let's  pUy 
Hide  and  Sedc." 

"Yes,  and  make  believe  Mrs.  Miles  is  after  each 
one  of  us,"  suggested  Luke  Morris. 

"It  wouWn't  be  much  fun  if  she  were,"  said  Ned 


Mary  is  Introduced  to  Maypair.  69 

.Wallace,  "but  it  will  give  a  creepy  feeling  to  the 

game." 

"I  know  I  shall  shriek  if  any  one  catches  1 
Marie  Lewis  declared ;  "I  shall  fancy  it  is  she. ' 

"Let  two  or  three  of  us  hide  together,"  Dolly 
said ;  "then  we  can't  get  nervous.  There,  Dick  hat 
to  find  the  rest  of  us.  Come  on,  Maryf* 

The  girls  acted  upon  Dolly's  suggestion,  two  or 
three  of  them  grouping  together  in  the  various 
places  of  hiding  they  selected  and  where  Dick  found 
them  all  in  good  season  and  came  upon  them  with 
a  terrific  whoop  to  represent  Mrs.  Miles. 

So  that  all  the  girls  did  shriek  lustily,  exceptMary, 
who  was  accustomed  to  the  very  useful  habit  of 
self-repression.  Jack  did  not  join  in  the  game.  He 
thought  it  undignified  and  that  he  was  getting  too 
big  for  such  frolics.  He  took  a  book  out  of  his 
pocket  and  began  ostentatiously  lo  read,  but  in  spite 
of  himself  his  eager  eyes  would  follow  every  move- 
ment of  that  jovial  game  in  which  he  had  been 
wont  to  join  with  gusto. 

And  so  came  Mary's  first  visit  to  Mayfair  to  an 
end,  leaving  her  much  exhilarated  by  the  air  and 
exercise  and  the  society  of  tiiose  of  her  own  age. 

"I  love  Mayfair,"  she  said;  "I  think  it  is  so  nkc 
for  you  all  to  have  this  big  f^ce  to  run  in." 


70      Mary  is  Introduced  to  Mayfair. 

"Mother  says  we're  all  getting  to  be  too  Wg 
for  those  games,  and  that  very  soon  we'll  have  to 
be  quite  staid  and  dignified,"  Marjorie  confided  to 
her  new  friend.  "Won't  it  be  tiresome?" 

"Indeed  it  will,"  agreed  Mary  heartily;  "I  know 
what  that  is,  because  I  always  have  to  be  as  quiet 
as  if  I  were  an  old  woman." 


CHAPTER  VI. 


MR.  AND  MRS.  MORTON  RECALL  THE  PAST. 

NOW  while  Mary  was  being  introduced  to  her 
young  fnends  in  Mayfair,  Mr.  Morton  tat 
smoking  upon  tiie  veranda.  His  wife  was  near, 
enjoying  the  beauty  of  the  summer's  evenhig  and 
smiling  now  and  then  at  tiie  sounds  of  merriment 
which  readied  her  from  the  field  opposite.  As  they 
sat  thus  tiidr  talk  turned  naturally  upon  Mary. 

"There  never  was  a  child  more  to  be  pitied!" 
Mrs.  Morton  declared  emphatically. 

"I  guess  you're  about  right  there,  Lucy,"  assented 
Mr.  Morton ;  "old  Pemberton  always  did  make  my 
flesh  creep,  even  as  long  ago  as  my  college  days. 
'  And  yet  he  was  very  different  then  from  what  he 
IS  now. 

Mr.  Morton,  becoming  reminiscent,  blew  out  a 
cloud  of  smoke,  tmder  cover  of  whidi  he  let  his 
thOHg^Vi  wander  back  to  ^e  days  when  he  had 

7« 


72  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Morton  Recall  the  Past. 

been  a  fresh-cheeked,  fair-haired  youth,  coming  out 
of  college  for  his  vacation.  Now  he  was  stout  and 
middle-aged,  his  fresh  cheeks  had  become  florid 
and  his  hair  had  a  hint  of  gray  about  the  temples, 
but  he  liked  to  recall  the  past,  as,  indeed,  all  the 
world  does. 

"Harry,"  asked  his  wife,  after  the  pause  had 
lenghtened  as  such  pauses  do  between  members 
of  the  same  family,  "do  you  believe  these  stories 
that  are  told?" 

''Well,"  said  Mr.  Morton,  "I  can't  say  that  I  be- 
lieve ail  of  them.  In  a  coimtry  place  like  this  there 
is  stare  to  be  exaggeration.  But  some  of  them  we 
know  to  be  true  and  we  can  guess  at  others.*' 

He  dropped  his  voice  and  looked  about  him 
cautiously  as  he  spoke. 

"Of  course,"  said  Mrs.  Morton,  "if  we  hadn't 
known  some  of  them  to  be  true,  there  would  never 
have  been  a  break  between  the  families.  For 
instance,  we  know  or  suspect  how  Bessie  was 
treated  after  her  husband's  death  and  how  fiercely 
bitter  Mr.  Pemberton  was  against  her." 

"Poor  Bessie!"  Henry  Morton  murmured, 
knocking  the  ashes  off  his  cigar.  From  the  field 
beyond  came  the  babel  of  merry  voices,  which 
broke  upon  the  summer  dusk,  with  the  m<moton<»is 


Mr.  and  Mrs.  Morton  Recall  the  Past.  73 

drone  of  the  Icatydids  and  the  chirp  of  a  belated 
bird. 

"Wasn't  that  a  dreadful  evening,  when  we  first 
found  out?"  Mrs.  Morton  said,  with  a  tremor  in 
her  voice  and  a  blanching  of  her  cheek.  "Do  you 
remember,  we  reached  the  door  what  a  fearful 
storm  came  up?  There  was  a  yellow  glare  in  the 
sky  and  a  moaning  wind  howling  about  the  house. 
The  door  was  thrown  open  and  the  old  man  him- 
self stood  upcm  the  threshold.  I  oftoi  think  of  his 
ghastly  face  and  burning  eyes  as  he  said:  'Come 
in,  till  I  show  you  a  brave  sight — my  only  son 
lying  dead.'  And  we  went  in  and  looked  at  poor 
Philip  lying  in  his  coffin,  smiling  and  handsome  as 
ever.  It  was  such  a  shock.  I  had  spoken  to  him 
only  the  night  before." 

"By  George,  L  '.cy.  I  shall  never  forget  that 
night!"  cried  Harry  Morton.    "It  was  sickening." 

"And  when  he  told  us — the  rest,"  added  Mrs. 
Morton. 

"Hush!"  said  her  husband,  "don't  mention  it, 
even  here." 

"How  little  poor  Philip  knew  the  night  before, 
when  I  met  him  on  the  staircase.  It  made  me  shud- 
der to  lode  at  it  the  other  day.  He  stopped  just 
on  the  turn  of  the  stairs  to  speak  to  me  and 


74  M«.  AHD  Mrs.  Morton  Recall  the  Past. 

he  was  jesting  about  everything,  telling  about  all 
the  rows  he  had  had  with  his  father  all  about  noth- 
ing, and  about  his  debts  and  the  rest  of  it  Only 
once  he  was  grave,  and  I  have  often  told  you  before 
what  he  said  then." 

"Yes,  I  remeniber/'  her  husband  said,  "it  was 

about  Mary." 

"He  said,  'If  anything  should  happen  me,  my 
poor  little  girl  is  to  go  to  Harry.  I  have  left  it  in 
my  will.'  Then  I  suggested  a  possible  objection  to 
this  from  Bessie.  'Bessie  knows,'  he  said,  'Bessie 
will  be  far  more  free  to  do  what  she  pleases  with 
the  little  -.ne  once  it  is  away  from  Hornby.* 

"Just  at  that  moment  old  Mr.  PenAerton  ap- 
peared at  the  top  of  the  stairs,  but  a  few  paces 
away.  I  do  not  know  whether  he  had  heard  what 
we  said,  but  his  face  was  very  stem.  Then  Philip 
whispered  something  into  my  ear,  of  which  I 
caught  only  these  words,  'the  long  barn,'  and  I, 
bowing  to  old  Mr.  Pemberton,  called  back  good 
night  to  Philip  and  went  down  to  where  the  car- 
riage was  waiting  at  the  door." 

Husband  and  wife  were  silent,  until  Mr.  Morton 
said: 

'I  wonder  if  it  was  then  and  there  the  quarrel 
took  place." 


Mb.  and  Mrs.  Morton  Recall  the  Past.  « 5 

"I  fear  so,"  said  his  wife,  shuddering,  "though 
we  never  could  get  at  the  details." 

"It  was  a  shocking  thing,"  Mr.  Morton  said, 
holding  his  ci^  suspended  and  unheeding  the  fact 

that  it  had  guue  out. 

"Philip's  wc  rds  have  always  been  in  my  mind," 
Mrs.  Morton  said,  "and  I  often  seem  to  hear  them 
even  in  my  sleep.  It  is  a  great  reproach  to  me, 
t'  at  we  have  never  done  anything,  especially  after 
ail  that  followed,  when  Bessie  was  taken  and  the 
child  left  alone." 

"But,  you  see,  that  will  of  poor  Phil  Pemberton's 
never  turned  up,"  Harry  observed,  "so  we  are 
powerless." 

"I  am  confident  that  111  exists,  if  only  it  could 
be  found,"  Mrs.  Mort-  1.     .  ired. 

"Its  existence  is  more  v  .  n  doubtful,"  Mr.  Mor- 
ton argued ;  "it  would  pr-  >bably  have  been  dc-tr<}yf-(\ 
even  if  Phil  ever  made  it." 

"I  am  sure  he  made  it,"  Mrs.  Mortor.  persisted, 
"his  look  and  one  were  -olemn,  an  1  do  n^t 
think  it  has  been  desi.f  y.u.  Fo  even  if  the 
g-andfather  is  as  bad  as  people  say,  he  would  be 
afraid  that  the  original  of  such  .  document  might 
be  preserved  in  some  law  ofiice  and  turn  up  un- 
expectedly at  any  time  to  cause  a  scandal.  He 


76  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Morton  Recall  the  Past. 

would  more  likely  content  himself  with  hiding  it 
away,  saying  that  its  existence  had  been  unsuspected 
till  it  was  called  for." 

"Well  reasoned  out,  little  woman,"  said  Harry 
idmiringly,  "but  it  doesn't  make  things  much 
better  for  Mary  or  for  us." 

"Harry,  I  believe  that  will  might  be  discovered 
by  diligent  search." 

"But  who  is  to  search?  Fancy  any  one  invading 
Hornby  and  looking  for  anything  in  the  teeth  of 
old  Pemberton  and  that  Argus-eyed  old  witch  he 
keeps  to  do  detective  duty." 

"Stili,"  said  Mrs.  Morton,  "it  seems  very  dread- 
ful to  think  of  this  child's  going  back  to  that  house. 
My  visit  there  the  other  day  only  confirmed  the 
fearful  impressions  I  had  carried  away  on  that 
night  long  ago.  I  felt  that  we  should  not  have  left 
Bessie's  child  there  all  these  years  without  even  an 
effort  to  protect,  to  befriend  her.  Oh,  I  can't  talk 
of  it,  Harry.  I  can't  sit  still  and  think  of  it  I  am 
full  of  self-reproach." 

Mr.  Morton  looked  grave. 

"My  dear,"  he  said,  "you  are  unjust  to  yourself 
and  to  me.  It  was  a  very  delicate  matter  to  inter- 
fere in.  Then  we  were  abroad  for  some  time.  You 
were  ill  after  that,  and  even  now  I  fail  to  see  what 


Mr.  and  Mrs.  Morton  Recall  the  Past.  77 

we  can  do.  Old  Pembcrton  is  not  to  be  thwarted 
and  he  has  the  legal  advantage  on  his  side." 

"Harry,"  whispered  the  wife,  bending  toward 
her  husband  so  that  her  voice  could  reach  him 
alone,  "I  do  not  think  he  would  if  all  were  known." 

Harry  looked  startled. 

"Lucy,"  he  cried,  "do  you  mean — ?  But  that  is 
impossible.  Think  of  the  scandal,  the  publicity. 
My,  the  Pembertons  and  the  Mortons  would  be  a 
nine  days'  wonder  in  Ironton  and  far  beyond. 
There  is  talk  enough  already." 

"But  have  we  the  right  to  sacrifice  this  child  to 
any  idea  of  that  sort?"  Mrs.  Morton  inquired. 

Mr.  Mcrton  pushed  back  his  chair,  with  a  move- 
ment of  impatience. 

"What  are  you  driving  at,  Lucy?"  he  said.  **You 
women  are  so  reckless  of  consequences,  and  this 
diild  has  cotm  to  no  harm  so  far.  llie  old  man 
can't  live  forever.  By  your  own  showing,  he 
looked  the  other  day  as  if  he  couldn't  hang  on 
much  longer,  and  then  I  will  be  Mary's  guardian 
and  all  will  come  right  without  any  raking  up  of 
dead  ashes." 

Mrs.  Morton  sighed,  saying  presently  in  a  subdued 
tone,  for  Harry,  like  other  men.  had  his  moments 
when  it  is  not  safe  to  venture  too  far  in  argument : 


78  Mr.  and  Mks.  Morton  Recall  thx  Past. 

"Could  you  not  hold  out  some  threat  which 
would  make  him  give  Mary  up?" 

Harry  Morton  laughed  scornfully. 

"Threats,  indeed.  I  thought  you  knew  old  Pem- 
berton  better  than  that.  And  besides,  where  are  the 
witnesses,  that  woman  who  used  to  be  about  there 
— I  forget  her  name — ^not  Miles,  but  the  other?" 

"Hester  Primrose,"  suggested  Mrs.  Morton. 

"Well,  she's  gone  and  so  is  the  Irishman,  who 
used  to  work  in  the  garden.  He  was  a  fine  fellow 
and  I  never  believed  the  trumped-up  charge  against 
him." 

"Poor  Malachy  O'Rourke!  I  remember  him  well," 
exclaimed  Mrs.  Morton — "a  cheerful  fellow,  full 
of  kindliness  and  good  will,  with  a  song  always  on 
his  lips.  How  different  everything  was  in  those 
days!" 

There  was  a  long  pause;  then  Mrs.  Morton 
spdce,  slowly  and  deliberately.  She  was  a  brave 
and  resolute  little  woman,  but  she  knew  that  her 
husband  was  of  the  easy-goincr  and  very  practical 
stamp.   So  she  hesitated  to  put  her  idea  into  words. 

"If  that  will  is  non-existent,  or  if  there  is  no 
hope  of  gcttinjx  it — "  '^lic  hetjan. 

"Weil,  what  then?"  iiujuirt^d  Ikt  hn-ihand,  !""!. 
ing  at  her  with  an  indulgent  smile.    He  had  a  high 


Mr.  AND  Mbs.  M<»ton  Recall  thb  Past.  79 

opinion  of  her  qualities,  menta}  and  moral.  She 
was  so  honest,  so  full  of  sterling  rectitude  and  of 
faith,  so  exact  in  her  religious  duties,  hence  a  model 
wife  and  mother,  training  up  Madge  in  htr  own 
footsteps. 

"I  should  be  in  favor  of  keeping  the  child  here," 
she  said  firmly,  "and  of  letting  Mr.  Pembertcm  take 

what  steps  he  will." 

"Lucy!"  cried  Mr.  Morton  agha^,  "  yoa  know 
you  would  never  do  that!" 

"I  know  that  I  can  not  allow  that  child  to  go 
back  and  be  subjected,  as  I  fear  she  has  been,  to 
ill  usage  or,  at  all  events,  to  dreariness  unspeak- 
able and  the  terrors  of  that  dreadful  Hall.  Now 
that  I  know  her,  the  eyes  so  like  Bessie's  would 
haunt  me,  and  we  are  morally  certain  that  both 
her  father  and  mother  wished  her  to  be  with  us." 

Mr.  Morton  whistled,  a  long,  ast<mished  whi^. 

"By  George!"  he  muttered,  staring  into  the  soft 
darkness  of  the  stmuner's  evening,  which  began  to 
overspread  all  the  lan^cape.  For  he  was,  as  he  said 
himself,  dumbfowi^  at  Hib  ^»  of  hb  wife's. 

Mrs.  Mortcai  ^«w  near. 

"You  knr?vv  we  caai't  do  it,"  she  declared.  "You 
are  Bessie's  cousin.  You  were  her  friend  and  boy 
champion  long  before  yon  kamf  imT 


8o  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Morton  Recall  the  Past. 

"Yes!"  Harry  Morton  remembered  only  too 
well,  and  out  of  the  gathering  dusk  seemed  to  come 
the  slender  figure,  the  appealing  cya,  the  ringing 
laugh  of  that  long  dead  Bessie.  He  saw  her  almost 
with  physical  sight  in  the  intensity  of  his  new- 
emotions.  He  was  not  an  imaginative  man,  but 
eminently  practical,  disposed  to  let  things  take  their 
course,  to  have  no  quarrel  with  his  neighbors.  He 
was,  indeed,  a  typical  American  of  a  certain  kind, 
with  whom  the  world  had  gone  well,  who  had 
family  traditions,  the  feeling  of  caste,  and  a  strong 
sense  of  the  reserve  which  should  enshroud  family 
affairs. 

And  here  he  was  called  upon  to  do  a  most  un- 
usual thing,  to  engage  in  an  extraordinary  squabble, 
in  the  course  of  which  much  that  was  tmdestrable 
might  be  broi^t  to  light  Yet  here  was  hb  wife 
resolute,  and  there  was  Bessie  appealing  to  hhu 
out  of  the  past  to  protect  her  child,  and  then,  the 
girl  herself.  He  remembered  suddenly  how  she 
had  looked  when  he  gave  her  the  money. 

"We  can't  let  her  go  back  in  that  dismal  prison 
van  to  worse  tlian  solitary  confinement,"  urged 
Mrs.  Morton,  returning  to  the  attack.  "Why,  even 
this  very  visit  the  old  wretch — but,  there,  I  mustn't 
call  names— designed  as  a  new  torment.   He  said 


Mr.  and  Mrs.  Morton  Rbcall  the  Past.  8r 

Mary  would  the  better  understand  what  discipline 
meant  and  how  different  his  hateful,  old  Hornby 
Hall  was  from  other  places,  after  she  had  been 

away." 

Henry  Morton  looked  very  grave. 
"I  will  think  it  all  over.  Lucy,"  he  decided,  "but 
we  must  move  very  carefully.  It  is  possible,  as  you 
say,  that  old  man  Pemberton  will  not  care  to  go 
to  law,  especially  if  he  knows  anything  about  that 
will.  He  has  such  a  lot  of  skeletons  about  the  place 
that  he  may  not  care  to  set  them  all  loose.  Not  a 
woid,  though,  to  Marjorie  or  the  girl  herself.  Here 
they  come,  by  the  way." 

The  sound  of  merry  voices  preceded  the  boys  and 
girls  as  they  came  streaming  out  of  the  field  which 
they  had  dignified  by  the  name  of  Mayfair.  Their 
gay  talk  and  laughter  seemed  like  a  commentary 
on  the  strange  conversation  which  had  taken  place 
between  husband  and  wife.  They  heard  Mary's 
name  uttered  by  one  after  another  of  the  {feasant 
young  voices.  It  was  plain  that  each  vied  with 
the  other  in  pleasing  the  forlorn  girl  and  making 
her  one  of  themselves.  Somehow,  these  things  went 
to  the  heart  of  the  kindly  pair  who  looked  out  upon 
the  swarm  of  young  figures,  dimly  seen  in  the 
dusk. 


8a  Ms.  AND  Mbs.  Morton  Recall  THB  Pas). 

**Yoa  hear?"  said  Mrs.  Morton.  ''She  has  be^^un 
to  live.  We  can't  aeod  her  back  to  living  death." 

"By  George,  you're  right  Something  must  be 
done.  We'll  keep  her,  if  there  were  twenty  old  men 
to  fight." 


CHAPTER  VII. 


MK.  MORTON  FORMS  A  PLAN. 

MAKJORIB  and  Mary  bade  the  others  good-night 
at  the  gate  and  came  vip  tltt  steps  onto  the 
veranda.  It  seemed  already  as  tl  the  two  girls  had 
known  each  other  all  tiidr  life.  Marjorie  in  her 
impulsive  way  and  Mary  in  staid,  sober  fashion 
found  a  mutual  pleasure  in  each  other's  society. 

"She  is  like  her  mother,"  remarked  Mr.  Morton 
to  his  wife,  as  he  watched  the  straight,  stoular 
figure  coming  through  the  dusk. 

"In  that  light  she  is  her  very  image,"  Mrs.  Mor- 
ton agreed,  "though  Bessie  was  better-looking." 

The  elders  then  fell  silent,  listening  amiably  to 
the  talk  of  the  two  girls  and  putting  in  an  occasional 
word.  A  hay-cart  drive  had  been  planned  for  the 
next  day  and  Marjorie  was  describing  the  glories 
of  that  partictdar  form  of  merrymaking  to  Mary, 
who  was,  of  course,  totally  ignorant  of  all  such 
things. 

H 


84  Mr.  Mokton  Forms  a  I'lan. 

"We  will  drive  out  in  a  great  big  cart  with  lots 
of  hay  on  it,  to  the  milestone  farm." 

"What  is  that?"  Mary  asked. 

"Oh,  a  big  farmhouse  opposite  the  fifth  milestone 
from  here.  We  will  have  berries  and  cream  there, 
picking  the  berries  ourselves  from  the  beds,  and 
then  we  can  roam  round  the  farm  awhile  and  come 
back  just  at  sunset,  when  the  air  will  be  lovely." 

The  two  were  so  interested  as  they  sat  together 
side  by  side  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Morton  thought 
themselves  perfectly  free  to  converse  withoir  fear 
of  being  overheard,  and  Mr.  Morton  asked  his  wife 
suddenly: 

"Lucy,  what  do  you  think  PWl  Pemberton 
meant  when  he  mentioned  the  *kmg  bam'  V* 

"The  long  bam?*'  cried  Mary  Pemberton,  turn- 
ing in  her  strange,  unchildlike  way  to  join  in  the 
conversatimi,  much  to  the  surprise  of  both  husband 
and  wife.  For  the  girl's  quick  ear  had  cai  f^ht  the 
familiar  word  and  she  seemed  eager  to  tell  all  she 
knew  about  the  subject  under  disnission, 

"Oh,  T  used  to  hear  so  much  al  n  t  the  long  barn. 
Grandfather  and  Mrs.  Miles  often  talked  about  it. 
and  I  know  that  Mrs.  Miles  uset;  to  go  out  there 
night  after  night  with  a  lanterr  I  didn't  tliink 
grandfather  knew  that,  but  I  saw  iier  often,  creep- 


Ml.  Morton  Forms  a  Plan.  85 

ing  out,  when  every  one  was  asleep,  just  like  a 
ghost.  Once  she  caught  me  watching  her  from 
the  window." 

No  one  inquired  what  had  followed  upon  that 
discovery,  but  the  expression  of  terror  which  sud- 
denly came  into  the  child's  face  showed  that  the 
experience  had  been  a  fearful  one.  And  it  was  this 
lode  of  Mary's  which  caused  Mar  jorie  to  exclaim : 

**l  don't  think  Mrs.  Miles  is  real.  I  think  she 
must  be  just  some  witch  or  UAry  that  sprang  out 
of  the  ground  to  torment  people." 

Marjorie's  father  and  mother  were  meanwhile 
exchanging  glances. 

"What  do  you  think  the  woman  was  looking  for 
in  the  long  barn?"  Mr.  Morton  asked,  v/ith  ap- 
parent carelessness. 

"I  think,  perhaps,  slie  has  been  looking  lately  for 
a  paper,"  Mary  answered,  thoughtfully,  "for  I 
heard  her  saying  to  grandpapa  that  there  was  not 
a  scrap  of  paper  in  the  whole  place.  But  I  think 
Mrs.  Miles  keeps  a  lot  of  things  out  there,  because 
she  goes  there  so  often,  and  grandfather  can't  go 
to  see  what  she  has  and  none  of  the  servants 
dares" 

Mary  paused  and  her  listeners  waited,  Marjorie, 
with  breathless  awe,  lookmg  at  her  friend  witl* 


86 


Mm.  MorroN  Fosms  a  Plan. 


interest,  as  at  one  who  had  known  ttranfe  ex- 
periences. 

"I  saw  the  door  upe..  once  and  I  peeped  in,  and 
another  time  when  I  was  i  little,  little  girl  I  heard 
a  voice,  a  fearful  voi  c,  crying  and  groaning. 
I  ran  away  quick.  I  thought  it  was  something 
bad." 

''Was  that  Mrs.  MQes'  voice?"  asked  Mrs.  Mor- 
ton. 

"No,  oh  no,  it  was  not  like  hers  at  all." 

"That  is  curious,"  commented  Mr.  Morton, 
gravely.  "And  you  say  that  is  some  time  ago?" 

"Yes,  when  I  was  a  child." 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Morton  smiled. 

"That  was  not  so  very  long  ago,"  Mrs.  Morton 
said. 

"It  was  the  year  my  father  and  mother  died." 

There  was  silence  after  this;  husband  and  wife 
were  reflecting  deeply.  Nero,  roused  in  his  kennel  by 
some  unwonted  noise,  rose  and  bayed  his  deep- 
mouthed  warning;  then  lay  down  again,  content 
that  he  had  done  his  best.  The  elders  as  well  as 
the  two  children  wert  thinking  of  the  same  thing, 
the  singular  being  who  with  a  certain,  cold  malig- 
nity seemed  to  reign  over  the  destinies  of  Hornby 
Hall.    She  was  flesh  and  blood,  indeed,  despite 


M«.  MoiTOW  Forms  a  Plak.  87 

Marjorie's  surmise,  but  every  atom  of  human  feel- 
ing save,  perhaps,  tliat  of  hatred  had  been  worn 
away  by  her  long  years  of  service  in  that  atmo- 
sphere of  gloom  and  dreariness.  She  had  come 
there  a  young  girl,  and  had  remained  under  the 
stern  tutelage  of  the  autocrat  who  ruled  there,  to 
become  as  Mary  had  described  her,  merely  Mn. 
Miles.  Every  one  of  the  years,  aided  by  a  series 
of  extraordinary  events,  had  taken  away  some  of 
her  lightheartedness,  if  ever  she  had  been  light- 
hearted,  some  of  her  natural  feeling,  if  ever  she 
had  possessed  any.  In  that  region  of  cold  unbelief 
she  had  lost  all  faith  in  the  supernatural,  and  with 
it  all  color  and  warmth  and  the  joy  of  living. 

At  her  master's  bidding  and  because,  with  her 
dangerous  knowledge,  he  wanted  to  bind  her  to  his 
service,  she  had  married  the  butler,  who  had  grown 
gray  in  the  service  of  the  Pembertons  and  was 
wholly  devoted  to  them.  After  a  few  joyless  years, 
in  which  he  had  been  a  mere  cipher,  an  aut(»na- 
ton  moving  at  the  bidding  of  his  iron-willed 
master  and  still  more  implacable  wife,  he  died,  un- 
moumed  by  the  w(Mnan  who  had  borne  his  name 
and  whom  he  had  married  to  please  his  master. 
She  had  remained  after  that,  trusted  by  the  autocrat 
as  he  trusted  no  other  human  creature,  a  part  of 


MICROCOPY  RESOLUTION  TEST  CHART 

lANSI  and  ISO  TEST  CHART  No.  2) 


A     x^PPLIED  IIVMGE  Inc 

!B=i3  East  Mo.n  Streel 
••irhester.  Ne«  rork       14609  USA 
'  6)  482  -  0300  -  Phons 


88  Mr.  Morton  Forms  a  Plan. 

all  the  dark  traditions  of  Hornby  Hall,  as  im- 
movable as  one  of  its  walls. 

"Do  you  know!"  said  Mary,  "when  she  told 
grandfather  that  there  was  not  a  scrap  of  paper  in 
the  bam,  I  don't  think  she  tc.ld  the  truth,  because 
she  muttered  to  herself  afterward  that  the  thing 
must  be  there  somewhere  and  that  if  only  she  could 
chmb  up  or  get  a  suitable  ladder  she  would  find  it 
The  ladder  in  the  granary  had  been  burned  I 
htard  her  say  these  things  when  she  thought  I  was 
asleep." 

"By  George!"  cried  Mr.  Morton  in  great  excite- 
nient.  "I  know  the  long  bam  well  and  I  can  judge 
the  place  she  wants  to  get  at.  It's  a  loft  over  one 
end  of  it.  We  boys  used  to  try  long  ago  to  climb 
to  It  and  once  Phil  actually  did  get  up.  He  thought 
It  a  great  feat  and  used  to  boast  of  it  for  a  long 
time  after.  Phil  knew  the  spot,  of  course,  and 
would  be  sure  to  think  of  it  if  he  wanted  to  hide 
anythmg." 

All  this  was  Greek  to  Mary,  though  she  had  the 
premature  shrewdness  and  powers  of  observation 
engendered  by  her  training.  Her  attention,  too 
was  distracted  by  Madge's  dog,  the  great  Mt.  St' 
Bernard,  who  had  come  slowly  round  the  side  of 
the  house  and  approached  the  steps  with  a  joyful 


Mr.  Morton  Forms  a  Plan.  89 

wag  of  his  huge  tail  at  sight  of  his  young  mistress. 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Morton,  however,  continued  to  dis- 
cuss the  subject  between  themselves. 

"But  why  should  the  woman  Miles  wish  to  de- 
ceive the  old  man?"  Mr.  Morton  inquired,  doubt- 
fully. 

"I  think  the  reason  is  very  plain,"  said  Mrs. 
Morton ;  "she  wanted  to  keep  this  secret  as  a  power 
in  her  own  hands,  to  be  used  under  certain  circum- 
stances. That  is,  if  she  has  been  able  to  find  the 
will." 

"She  certainly  couldn't  climb  up  to  the  loft,"  Mr 
Morton  said  with  a  laugh,  "but  she  may  have  had 
other  means  of  reaching  it,  though  the  child  heard 
her  bemoaning  the  loss  of  a  ladder.  Will  you  try 
to  remember,"  he  asked  of  Mary,  breaking  in  upon 
her  talk  with  Marjorie,  "every  word  the  old  woman 
said  when  she  was  speaking  of  the  long  barn." 

"I  think,  sir,  I  told  you  all  I  remember."  answered 
Mary.  "That  night  that  I  heard  her  sj«aking 
about  the  ladder  and  being  unable  to  climb  she 
dropped  hot  wax  from  her  candle  on  my  face  to 
see  if  I  was  asleep.  I  had  to  pretend  I  was  and 
to  wake  up  suddenly.  The  wax  burned  me  so  that 
my  cheek  was  quite  sore  for  a  long  time." 
"Poor  child!"  murmured  Mrs.  Morton. 


90         Mr.  Morton  Forms  a  Plan. 

"She  told  me  to  tell  grandfather/'  Mary  went  on, 
"that  I  had  been  stung  by  a  bee,  if  he  noticed  the 
spot.  But  I  couldn't,  because  my  own  dear  mother 
told  me  always  to  tell  the  truth.  So  she  made  me 
sleep  in  the  attic  that  night,  where  the  bats  are ;  she 
knew  I  was  afraid  of  bats.  She  told  grandfather 
that  I  had  been  stung  and  he  said  not  to  let  me 
come  near  him  till  my  cheek  was  well.  I  was  glad 
of  that  and  I  think  Mrs.  Miles  was,  too,  because 
she  was  afraid  grandfather  might  ask  questions. 
I  had  a  fearful  week.  She  made  me  do  lots  of  dis- 
agreeable things." 

"The  woman  ought  to  be  shut  up,"  Mr.  Morton 
declared,  indignantly. 

"She  is  shut  up  in  the  worst  of  all  jails,"  ob- 
served Mrs.  Morton,  with  grim  satisfaction  at  the 
thought,  quite  foreign  to  her  usual  good  nature, 
"but  the  point  is  not  to  let  Mary  be  shut  up  there 
again,  if  we  can  spirit  her  away  somewhere." 

"And  go  to  jail  ourselves,  perhaps,"  Mr.  Mor- 
ton put  in,  but  there  was  a  new  look  on  his  face 
which  bespoke  a  determination  of  some  kind.  After 
a  while  he  said  to  Marjorie : 

"Well,  Marjorie,  my  pet,  I  have  something  in 
my  mind  which  will  be  much  more  fun,  for  the  boys 
at  any  rate,  than  any  hay-cart  drive.  To-morrow's 


Mr.  Mokton  Forms  a  Plan.  91 

Sunday,  but  early  in  the  week  I  shall  let  them  have 
an  adventure." 

"An  adventure,  papa!"  exclaimed  Marjorie.  "Oh, 
what  fun  I  but  can't  the  girls  be  in  it,  too?" 

"Not  directly,  I  fear,"  said  Mr.  Morton,  "but 
if  all  goes  well  they'll  have  some  fine  doings,  too." 

"I'm  just  dying  of  curiosity,"  said  Marjorie,  but 
Mary,  who  was  accustomed  to  repress  all  emotions, 
said  nothing.  Indeed,  when  Mr.  Morton  had  made 
mention  of  "early  in  the  week,"  it  had  remindea 
her  that  by  that  time  the  greater  part  of  her  holi- 
day would  be  over.  And  the  reflection  saddened 
while  she  trembled  in  anticipation  of  how  Mrs. 
Miles  would  try  to  make  up  in  cruelty  for  the 
pleasure  she  had  had. 

"She  will  torment  me  in  a  hundied  ways,"  she 
thought,  in  her  old-fashioned  way,  "  but  still  it's 
worth  it  to  have  come  here  and  to  know  them  all. 
She  can't  stop  my  thoughts,  nor  make  me  forget. 
And  when  it  is  very  lonely  and  dreary,  I  can  bring 
in  Marjorie  and  Dolly  and  the  Lewises  and  Jack 
and  Dick  and  Hugh  and  all  the  rest  or  I  can  play 
that  I  am  in  Mayfair.  Of  course,  it  will  be  only 
pretending,  but  it  will  be  better  than  nothing." 

Mrs.  Morton  here  reminded  Marjorie  that  as 
the  morrow  was  Sunday  it  would  be  well  for  her 


92 


Mr.  Morton  Forms  a  Plan. 


and  Mary  to  go  to  bed  somewhat  earlier  than 
usually.  After  the  two  children  had  gone,  Mrs. 
Morton  asked  her  husband : 

"What  is  this  plan  you  have  in  view  for  the  boys  ?" 

"Oh,  just  a  frolic,  dangerous  enough  to  put 
spirit  into  it." 

"What  kind  of  frol' .?" 

Mr.  Morton  looked  steadily  at  his  wife  before  he 
replied : 

"I  am  going  to  organize  those  boys  who  can  be 
trusted  into  a  searrhing  party." 
"A  searching  party?" 

"Why,  Lucy,  you  are  usually  quicker  of  wit  than 
that,"  Mr.  Morton  exclaimed,  somewhat  im- 
patiently. 

"Well,  I  don't  understand.  What  are  they  going 
to  search  for,  and  where?"  said  Mrs.  Morton,  re- 
garding her  husband  with  eyes  which  sought  to 

read  plainly  the  mystery  in  his  face. 

"What  are  they  going  to  search  for?  Why,  Phil 
Pemberton's  will,  of  course,  and  where?" 

A  light  broke  over  the  wife's  face. 

"Oh,"  she  exclainied,  "I  see!  they  are  going  to 
search  in  the  long  barn!" 

Mr.  Morton  nodded. 

"But  wctti't  it  be  dangerous?"  his  wife  asked. 


Mr.  Morton  Forms  a  Plan.  53 

grown  suddenly  timorous.  "We  can't  send  other 
folks'  sons  into  danger." 

"Pooh!  pooh!"  cried  xMr.  Morton,  "Mrs.  Miles 
can't  do  much  to  half  a  dozen  stirring  lads,  what- 
ever she  may  do  to  orphan  girls.  Old  Pemberton 
is  helpless  and  the  servants,  old  all  of  them,  are 
not  likely  to  be  very  brave  or  very  alert." 

"There  might  be  firearms,"  Mrs.  Morton  sug- 
gested. 

"Who  is  to  use  them?  Hardly  the  woman, 
thougfh  I  believe  she's  capable  of  anything.  But 
it  wouldn't  be  her  cue,  I  fancy,  to  court  the  inquity 
which  the  shooting  of  any  one  would  cause.  It  will 
be  easy  to  keep  out  of  range  of  the  old  man,  even 
though  he  finds  out  our  presence  on  the  premises, 
which  I  shall  take  every  means  to  prevent.  In  fact, 
I  hope  to  proceed  so  noiselessly  and  cautiously 
that  our  v'isit  to  the  barn  may  never  be  dis- 
covered." 

"I  am  afraid  that  will  be  scarcely  possible  with 
the  Argus  eyes  you  spoke  of  on  the  watch."  said 
Mrs.  Morton,  rather  faintly,  for  she  began  to  realize 
that  if  there  were  danger  in  the  attempt  her  hus- 
band would  be  in  the  thick  of  it.  But  Mr.  Morton 
was  already  a  boy  again.  He  had  got  into  the  spirit 
of  the  adventure,  besides  being  thoroughly  arcMised 


94         Mr.  Morton  Forms  a  Plan. 

<m  Mary's  behalf,  so  that  he  was  not  to  be  d*..:erred 
by  obstacles. 

"There  is  the  law,  of  which  you  were  so  much 
afraid  a  while  ago,"  went  on  his  wife. 

**A  fig  for  the  lawl"  said  M  Morton.  "If  we 
get  what  we  seek,  we  may  sn  or  fingers  at  them 
and  if  we  don't,  why,  it  can  ue  set  down  as  a  boys' 
frolic  which  can  not  be  taken  much  more  seriously 
than  their  habit  of  climbing  up  to  look  over  the 
fence.  It  will  be  hard  to  identify  any  of  th  boys 
and,  of  course,  they  will  all  be  pledged  to  svcrecy. 
If  all  goes  well,  Mary  is  ours,  once  and  forever." 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


masy's  first  time  at  church. 

T^HE  following  morning  was  Sunday,  the  quiet, 
A     wholesome  Sunday  of  the  country.  The  sun- 
shine lying  over  the  land  was  quiet  and  oothing, 
all  labor  was  suspended,  the  cattle  broused  peaceful 
in  the  fields,  shops  were  closed,  and  the  village  folks 
walked  about  in  their  best  clothes,  seeming  some- 
how unfamiliar  and  unreal. 
The  Mortons  were  astir  early,  though  they  were 
'  that  day  to  the  half  past  ten  o'clock  Mass  at 
fohn*s  Church,  which  was  a  very  little  edifice, 
indeed,  of  which  Ironton  was  very  proud. 

Mary  Pemberton  went  with  them,  though  she 
told  the  astonished  Marjorie  that  she  had  never  been 
in  church  before,  except,  perhaps,  when  her  mother 
was  alive  and  she  was  a  very  little  girl.  Mr.  Pem- 
berton did  not  believe  in  churchgoing  and  practised 
no  form  of  religion  himself. 
The  Mortons'  pew  was  very  near  the  front,  and 

9S 


96       Mary's  First  Time  at  Church. 

Mary  went  up   with   the   others,  genuflecting 
mechanically  because  she  saw  her  friend  doing  so 
and  sitting  or  standing  according  as  did  the  rest  of 
the  congregation.   But  she  had  no  idea  at  all  of 
what  was  going  on.   She  did  not  know  what  the 
priest  was  doing  at  the  altar  nor  why  he  should  be 
dressed  in  that  strange  shining  garment.  The  lights 
and  flowers  on  the  altar,  the  glow  of  the  sanctuary 
lamp,  the  hush,  the  stillness,  the  whole  atmosphere 
of  the  place  enchanted  her.   To  this  girl,  who  had 
never  to  her  recollection  been  inside  of  a  church 
before,  that  High  Mass  was  a     /elation,  wonder- 
ful, as  though  the  gates  of  paradise  had  suddenly 
been  left  open  and  she  had  peeped  into  another  and 
brighter  world.    She  listened  entranced  to  the 
music,  the  solemn  and  touching  Kyrie  Eleison,  the 
gay,  jubilant  Gloria,  the  noble  Credo  an^  the  tender 
Agnus  Dei.  They  were  strains  as  sweet  to  her  as 
if  choirs  of  angels  had  been  singing,  and  the  music 
of  the  organ  to  her  unaccustomed  ears  was  glorious. 
The  picture  over  the  altar,  of  John,  the  beloved  dis- 
ciple, leaning  on  his  Master's  bosom,  fascinated  her, 
though  she  did  not  know  what  it  represented  nor 
who  either  of  the  figures  was. 

The  sermon  was  on  charity:  "And  the  greatest 
of  these  is  charity."  Mary  listened,  vaguely  under- 


Maby's  First  Time  at  Chu»cii.  97 

standing  what  the  preacher  meant  when  he  spoke 
of  the  love  of  God  r-nd  of  one's  neighbor,  but 
realizing  that  she  had  suddenly  come  into  a  world 
very  different  from  that  which  was  inclosed  by  the 
walls  of  Hornby  Hall.  Charity  and  peace  and  the 
glow  which  religion  consciously  or  unconsciously 
gives  to  life  were  shut  out  from  there  as  rigidly 
as  bright  colors  and  poetry  and  sentiment.  It  was 
not  for  many  days,  however,  that  Mary  put  into 
words  all  that  was  passing  in  her  mind  that 
memorable  Sunday  when  she  had  first  gone  to 
church.  She  sat  quiet  beside  Marjorie,  watching 
her  friend  read  attentively,  with  occasional  glances 
at  the  altar,  out  of  a  pretty  book,  full  of  lace 
pictures.  Once  when  Marjorie  looked  back  in  turn 
at  Mary,  it  was  suddenly  borne  in  on  her  how  a 
girl  might  feel  who  had  never  seen  church  or  altar 
or  any  such  things  before. 

All  the  boys  and  girls  of  Mayfair  were  there,  with 
or  without  their  respective  families.  Jack  Holland 
was  more  resplendent  than  ever  in  a  new  suit  and 
spotless,  high  collar,  with  a  vivid  blue  tie  and  hair 
brushed  till  it  shone.  Beside  him  was,  of  course, 
Dick,  and  they  were  presently  joined  by  Hugh,  the 
Wallace  boys,  and  Luke  Morris.  After  Mass  Mar- 
jorie and  Mary  very  soon  met  the  two  Lewises, 


98       Maiy's  Fimt  Time  at  Church. 

Dollie  Martin,  and  Kitty  Hopan,  and  they  all 
stopped  for  a  chat.   Marie  Lewis  looked  very  pretty 
in  her  white  pique  costume,  with  the  dearest  blue 
sunshade,  and  Florence  wore  a  very  attractive  pink 
chambray.   Dollie  looked  sweet,  as  Marjorie  said, 
though  her  face  was  plain  and  freckled,  in  a  striped 
gingham,  with  a  broad  new  straw  hat  They  looked 
very  much  like  a  bunch  of  flowers,  as  they  stood 
together;  though  Marjorie  was  in  her  plainest 
frock  to  keep  Mary  in  countenance  and  Kitty 
Hogan  was  in  sober  gray.  It  was  pleasant  to  meet 
so  many  cheerful,  smiling  faces.  Mary  thought  as 
she  looked  around.   Nearly  all  the  congregation  of 
St.  John's  knew  one  another  more  or  less,  and  Mrs. 
Morton  had  a  word  for  nearly  all  the  women,  with 
whom  she  was  associatel  in  confraternities  or  chari- 
table work;  and  Mr.  Morten  exchanged  a  jest 
with  John  Tobin  of  the  Riverside  House,  or  shook 
the  hand  of  old  Jeremiah  O'Meara  the  baker,  and 
called  out  some  remark  upon  the  sermon  to  William 
McTcaguc  of  the  general  shop.   In  fact,  he  knew 
every  one  and  every  one  knew  him. 

Mary  was,  though  she  did  not  realize  it,  quite 
a  center  of  attraction.  The  village  people  lingered 
about  to  catch  glimpses  of  her,  and  whispered  to 
cnt  another  concerning  her  strange  history. 


Mary's  First  Time  at  Church.  99 

"What  would  ouldMr.  Pemberton  say  at  all,  at  all, 
if  he  seen  his  granddaughter  in  a  Catholic  church?" 
rrmarkcd  one.  "He  hates  Catholics  as  he  hates — well, 
I  won't  say  O'tid  Nick,  for  there  .  no  tellin'  how  he 
stands  mi  r<  -ard  to  him.  But  he  hates  them  and 
ever  and  always  did,  even  when  he  was  a  young 
man,  as  he  was  when  I  first  came  to  Ironton." 

"It's  no  won(u-  she's  pale  and  yellow  Icokin' 
with  the  life  she's  led,  poor  thing,"  said  Mrs.  Mul- 
vey,  an  Irishwoman,  who  washed  for  moi:  of  the 
families  about;  "why,  beside  Miss  Marjorie  there 
and  the  other  young  ladies,  she  looks  ghastly,  so 
she  does.  But  she  has  a  bright  eye  in  her  head  and 
a  purty  smile,  God  bless  her  and  take  her  out  of 
the  ould  villain's  clutches.  For  villain  I  cr''  him." 

While  this  byplay  was  going  on,  Jack  i.  Dick 
had  drawn  near  the  group  of  gins,  Tactc  being 
quite  proud  to  be  seen  on  easy  torns  with  Miss 
Pemberton  from  Hornby. 

"Suppose  .ve  all  go  for  a  walk  in  the  woods  this 
afternoon,"  suggested  Jack.  "Will  you  come, 
Marjorie  and  Miss  Mary?" 

"Oh,  don't  call  her  Miss!"  cried  Marjorie— "it 
sounds  grown-up  and  horrid." 

Mary  looked  at  him  with  her  steadfast  brown 
eyes. 


100      Mary's  First  Time  at  Church. 


"I  am  just  Mary  Pemberton,"  she  said. 

"Well  then,  Mary,  you  will  come  and  Marjoric 
and  Miss  Marie." 

"I  am  not  going  to  let  you  be  formal  with  me 
either,"  interrupted  Marie  Lewis. 

"Well,  we're  all  friends  together,  then,'*  said 
Jack,  laughing,  and  coloring  a  little  with  pleasure, 
for  the  l  ewises  were  very  wealthy  and  very  nice 
people  and  Jack,  who  was  more  of  a  sncb  than 
most  boys  of  his  age,  felt  the  distinction  of  being 
thus  admitted  to  intimacy.  "And  I  suppose  all  the 
rest  of  you  girls  will  come?" 

"I  will,"  answered  Kitty  Hov,an,  "that  is,  if  you 
do  not  start  too  early.  I  have  first  to  go  with 
mother  to  see  grandmamma." 

"If  you're  in  Mayfair  at  four  o'clock,"  Jack  de- 
cided, "it  will  do  very  well." 

"We'll  all  be  there!"  agreed  Marjorie.  "It  will 
be  a  splendid  day  for  the  woods." 

"I'll  get  all  the  other  boys,"  put  in  Dick.  "Hugh 
has  gone  home.  He  was  too  shy  to  c<Mnc  over  to 
a  whole  group  of  girls,  and  the  rest  seem  to  have 
cut  and  rvn.  too." 

"Tell  them  all  to  be  sharp  on  time,"  cc»nmanded 
Jack ;  "we  won't  wait  five  minutes  for  any  one." 
"Listen  to  the  dictator!"  laughed  Marjorie;  "it 


Mary's  First  Tims  at  Church.  ioi 


sounds  like  Napoleon  to  his  army,  or  some  of  those 
things." 

Jade  vouchsafed  the  teasing  girl  only  a  scornful 
glance,  as  she  explained.: 

''We  want  to  have  at  least  an  hour  and  a  half 
in  the  woods,  and  tea's  early  on  Sunday." 

"Almost  every  one  in  Ironton  has  tea  early  on 
Sunday,"  Marjorie  told  Mary,  "because  we  Catho- 
lics go  to  Vespers  and  the  Rosary  on  Sunday 
evening  and  the  Protestants  go  to  their  church  at 
seven." 

"Oh,"  said  Mary  vaguely,  adding  after  a  pause, 
"I  like  going  to  church.  I  shall  be  glad  to  go  back 
this  evening.   It's  all  wonderful  and  lovely." 

Marjorie  gave  her  friend  a  curious  glance  and 
then  admitted  freely: 

"Sometimes  I  don't  feel  a  bit  like  going  to 
church.  Still  I  go,  and  mother  says  feeling  doesn't 
matter  so  long  as  we  do  what's  right." 

"I  think  I  should  always  like  to  go  to  church," 
declared  Mary.  "You  see  I  have  never  been  there 
before." 

"We  never  value  so  much  what  we  have,"  agreed 
Marjorie.  "Sometimes,  though,  I  love  to  go  to 
church,  especially  on  festivals  and  the  first  Friday 
and  all  that." 


'102      Mary's  First  Time  at  Church. 


*'What  has  feeling  to  do  with  going  to  church?" 
pronounced  the  wise  Jack,  fresh  from  the  lessons 
of  his  professor;  "and  it's  only  girls  that  talk 
about  it." 

"Hear  the  learned  man,"  sniffed  Marjorie ;  "as 
if  I  didn't  know  that  I  was  just  telling  Mary  a 
minute  ago  that  feeling  doesn't  make  any  difference 
so  long  as  people  go." 

"Stop  scrapping,  you  two,"  inteq)Osed  Dick;  "if 
you  begin  that  you'll  spoil  everything." 

"I  won't  go  near  the  kid  at  all!"  declared  Jack, 
loftily. 

"Yes,  you  will,  too,"  said  Marjorie,  "for  you're 
dying  to  hear  everything  Mary  says,  and  Mary 
will  be  with  me." 

Jack  colored,  for  this  was  true — ^Mary  being  such 
a  novelty  as  had  not  excited  the  somewhat  dull  vil- 
lage for  many  a  day;  and  there  was  a  certain  dis- 
tinction in  knowing  the  long  imprisoned  orphan, 
who  was  also  young  lady  of  Hornby  Hall,  and  an 
unusual  interest  in  hearing  her  quaint  utterances. 

"Mary  and  I  will  stay  with  Dick  and  Dollie  and 
Hugh,"  announced  Marjorie,  contradicting  her 
previous  declaration,  "and  you  and  the  Wallaces 
and  Luke  can  take  charge  of  the  Lewises  and  Kitty 
Hogau." 


Mary's  First  Time  at  Church.  103 


For  by  this  time  they  had  left  the  Lewises  at 
their  house,  which  was  not  very  far  from  the  church, 
and  had  bade  Kitty  Hogan  "good-by"  at  a  cross- 
road where  she  had  to  turn  off. 

"For  shame,  Marjorie,"  cried  Dick;  "that  will 
be  cliquing  and  Aunt  Lucy  doesn't  allow  that." 

"That's  true,"  assented  Marjorie;  "I  said  it  to 
tease  Jack,  We'll  just  go  any  way  at  all,  however 
it  happens,  only  Mary  and  I  will  stay  together." 

"As  if  you  were  going  to  run  the  show,"  gfrum- 
bled  Jack. 

"We  can  run  away  from  you,  anyway,  if  we 
like,"  retorted  Marjorie.  She  did  not  dislike  Jack, 
whom  she  had  always  known,  but  she  couldn't 
resist  teasing  him  whenever  she  got  a  chance. 

"Don't  you  like  the  tall  boy  in  the  high  collar?" 
asked  Mary  gravely  as  Jack  movoi  scornfully 
aside.  These  grave  questions  of  hers  nearly  upset 
Dicky's  gravity  every  time  she  uttered  them,  and 
they  puzzled  Marjorie. 

"Oh,  I  like  him  well  enough,"  answered  Mar- 
jorie," but  he  is  so  stuck  up  and  thinks  himself  a 
great  deal  bigger  than  he  is." 

"He  is  big,"  observed  Mary,  looking  after  Jack, 
who  was  stalking  ahead. 

"Only  sixteen!"  declared  Marjorie 


104      Mary's  First  Time  at  Churcb. 

"And  how  old  are  you?" 

"I'm  fourteen,  going  on  fifteen." 

"You  are  nearly  my  age,"  remarked  Mary,  "at  least 
I  think  so,  but  I'm  not  quite  sure  how  old  I  am." 

Dicky  stared  and  then,  turning  away,  began  to 
kick  the  pebbles  out  of  his  path.  This  was  the 
strangest  girl  he  had  ever  met:  she  didn't  know 
anything.  Yet  she  was  a  good  sort  of  girl,  eager 
to  join  in  every  sport  and  be  on  the  most  friendly 
terms  with  all  the  boys  and  girls. 

"Well,"  continued  Mary,  "the  tall  boy,  Jack, 
seems  a  great  deal  older  than  you,  Marjorie,  and  he 
seems  to  know  a  good  deal  and — " 

"He  has  a  higher  collar  than  any  other  boy," 
interrupted  Marjorie,  laughing. 

There  was  a  gleam  of  humor  in  Mary's  brown 
eyes  as  she  regarded  Jack's  offending  article  of 
dress,  just  then  being  displayed  in  a  rear  view. 

"Look  here!"  cried  Dick,  "Jack's  my  chum  and 
he's  a  good  fellow,  and  I  wish  you  wouldn't  be 
forever  slanging  him,  Marjorie." 

"Well,  I'll  try  not  to,  Dick,"  said  Marjorie  in  a 
friendly  way,  "for  to-day  anyway.  I'll  not  say  a 
word  about  his  collar,  or  his  new  clothes,  or  his 
lordly  ways.  But  he  is  enraging,  Dick,  and  always 
makes  me  feel  like  teasing  him." 


Mary's  First  Tims  at  Church. 


Jack  turned  at  the  moment,  seading  hh  quick, 
flashing  glance  back  at  tht  group.  Perhaps  he 
guessed  that  he  was  tmder  discussion,  but  in  any 
case  he  quickened  his  pace,  calling  bade  with  affected 
carelessness  to  his  chum : 

"I  say,  Dick,  don't  forget  to  see  the  Wallaces  and 
Graham  and  Morris." 

"All  right,"  responded  Uick,  "I'll  see  them  and 
tell  them  to  be  sharp  on  time.  Mayfair  at  four 
o'clock." 


CHAPTER  IX. 


MR.  MORTON  HOLDS  A  MEETING  IN  MAYFAH. 

ON  the  Monday  which  followed  that  memorable 
Sunday,  Mr.  Morton  called  a  meeting  of 
the  boys  at  Mayfair  in  the  evening  at  8  o'clock. 
Every  one  was  punctual;  each  boy  looking  as 
solemn  and  important  as  if  he  were  going  to  serve 
on  a  jury  in  some  mighty  case.  The  boys  had,  in- 
deed, been  very  curious  during  the  time  which  in- 
tervened between  the  recdpt  of  the  note  which  Mr. 
Morton  had  punctilliously  sent  to  each  and  the  ap- 
pointed time  of  meeting. 

They  knew  that  Marjorie's  father  was  an  active 
patron  of  sport,  that  there  never  was  a  football  or 
baseball  match,  a  golf  tournament  or  a  tennis  com- 
petition in  which  Mr.  Morton  had  not  some  part. 
The  rowing  club  and  the  cricket  teams  knew  him 
for  their  benefactor.  Mr.  Morton  was,  in  fact,  a 
man  who  had  not  as  yet  survived  his  boyhood.  His 

io6 


Ma.  Morton  Holds  a  Meeting.  107 

life  had  been  so  easy  and  free  from  care  that  his 
interest  was  still  keen  in  the  amusements  which  had 
rejoiced  his  youth. 
The  boys  naturally  concluded,  therefore,  that  it 

must  be  some  jollification  that  was  being  planned, 
but  what  it  was  they  didn't  know.  There  they  were 
all  grouped  about  the  largest  tree,  which  had  that 
bench  around  it  f  pen  which  the  girls  so  often  were 
seated.  Mr.  Morton  itood  on  this  elevation,  the 
better  to  make  himself  heard. 

"It  isn't  politics  that  I  want  to  talk.  Nor  foot- 
hall,  nor  yet  baseball.  It  is  none  of  those  things, 
now.  And  yet  it  is  sport  in  a  ceri  -n  sense  and  very 
good  sport  too." 

The  eyes  that  were  watching  Mr.  Morton 
gleamed,  one  and  all,  with  anticipation. 

"I  believe,"  went  <»i  the  gentleman,  "that  you 
all  take  a  very  kind  interest  in  Miss  Mary  Pember- 
ton?" 

There  was  a  general  murmur  of  assent  f  rcxn  the 

boys. 

"And  that  you  have  so  far  done  everjrthing  in 
your  power  to  make  her  visit  pleasant.  Boys,  the 
powers  that  be  at  Hornby  Hall  have  decreed  that 
that  visit  shall  end  on  Thursday." 

He  paused.   There  was  a  silence  of  evident  re- 


io8      Mr.  Morton  Holds  a  Meeting. 

grct  on  the  part  of  the  boys.  They  waited  eagerly 
for  what  came  next 

"What  would  you  say  if  we  should  try  to  prolong 
it?"  asked  Mr.  Morton,  impressively. 

"Oh,  yes,  yes!"  cried  the  Ironton  boys  in  eager 
chorus.  For  like  most  other  boys  who  are  honest- 
hearted  and  unspoiled  they  had  a  fund  of  sympathy 
which  was  easily  stirred. 

"You  have  some  idea,  I  believe,  of  the  loneliness 
of  Hornby  Hall,"  continued  Mr.  Morton;  "none 
of  you  would  like  to  go  and  live  there." 

"I  guess  not !"  rang  out  Jack's  sharp  tones,  with 
which  the  other  voices  chimed  in. 

"Yet  it  is  worse  in  some  ways  for  a  girl,"  added 
Mr.  Morton. 

This  sentiment  was  not  so  generally  applauded. 
Girls  were  somehow  expected  to  spend  more  time 
indoors  and  to  be  content  with  quieter  places. 

"In  any  case,"  went  on  Mr.  Morton,  "  you  would 
help,  if  you  could,  to  keep  Mary  Pemberton  in 
Ironton." 

This  suggestion  astonished  the  boys.  So  that 
for  the  moment  they  were  silent. 

"Let  every  boy  who  is  willing  to  help  put  up 
his  right  hand,"  requested  Mr.  Morton.  This  time 
there  was  no  hesitation.    Every  hand  went  up  in 


Mk.  MomTON  Holds  a  Mbbtino.  109 

an  instant.  Shy  Hugh  Graham  jostled  Jack  in  his 
hurry,  and  Dick  got  ahead  even  of  Jack,  pressing 
to  the  front  like  a  chivalrous  little  knight  eager  to 
assist  a  distressed  maiden. 

"Well,  I  see  you  are  all  with  me,'*  said  the  orator 
of  the  evening.  "Now,  the  first  thing,  my  fine  fel- 
lows, is  secrecy,  absolute  secrecy.  Without  that 
nothing  can  be  accomplished,  and  I  will  have  to 
insist  on  secrecy  after  as  well  as  before  the  event. 
This  is  a  conspiracy  compared  to  which  the  con- 
spiracy of  Cataliue  or  any  other  in  history  is  as 
nothing." 

Now  the  word  conspiracy  is  dear  to  every  boyish 
heart  and  the  idea  of  secrecy  was  delightful.  Only, 
the  curiosity  of  Mr.  Morton's  listeners  was  growing 
painful.  What  event,  what  mysterious  happening, 
required  such  secrecy?  What,  they  asked  them- 
selves, could  they  have  to  do  with  Mary  Pembcr- 
ton's  staying,  and  where  was  the  sport  to  come  in? 

"Each  boy  must  promise  secrecy  on  his  word  of 
honor,"  resumed  Mr.  Morton.  "I  have  united  here 
to-nigb.t  only  those  whom  I  know  well,  those  who 
are  the  habitual  companions  of  my  own  little  girl 
and  of  her  cousin  Dick.  Therefore  T  trust  you 
implicitly  and  your  word  will  be  as  good  as  any 
man's  oath." 


no      Mr.  Morton  Holds  a  Meeting. 

The  boys  blushed  with  pleasure. 

"A  gentleman's  word  should  be  always  equal  to 
his  oath,"  declared  Mr.  Morton,  "and  the  boy  who 
is  to  make  an3rthing  of  himself  in  the  world  should 
respect  his  own  word  and  hold  it  sacred.  I  am  not 
here  to  preach,  but  to  tell  you  how  complete  is  my 
confidence  in  every  one  of  you." 

"Thank  you,  sir!"  cried  seventl  of  the  boys. 

"And  now  we  are  not  prt«-isely,  my  young 
friends,  going  to  beard  the  lion  in  his  den,  but  it 
is  something  very  much  like  it." 

The  boys'  interest  grew  keener. 

"In  other  words,  we  are  not  going,  precisely,  to 
storm  Hornby  Hall,  but  to  invade  the  mysterious 
territory  about  it." 

The  boys,  by  an  involuntary  movement,  drew 
closer  t(^ether  and  nearer  to  Mr.  Morton.  Here 
was  such  a  bit  of  fun,  of  daring,  of  adventure,  as 
had  never  before  been  offered  them.  Jack  and 
Dick  remembered  the  delicious  thrill  of  fear,  the 
creepiness  of  even  looking  over  the  wall.  And  now, 
under  a  strong  and  able  leader,  they  were  going 
to  advance  into  that  hostile,  that  unknown  territory 
and  do  battle  in  some  shape  or  form  for  the  defence 
of  tlie  weak. 

"To-morrow  night  we  shall  set  out  from  May- 


Ms.  Morton  Holm  a  Mirino.  hi 

fair  at  ten  punctually,"  announced  the  leader. 
"There  is  no  moon,  so  the  darkness  will  be  our  best 
friend.  We  shall  proceed  to  tiie  Hall  on  foot.  It 
would  never  do  to  go  in  carriages,  because  should 
the  affair  be  discovered,  better  that  it  be  set  down 
as  a  bit  of  boyish  mischief,  so  that  the  serious  ob- 
ject of  our  expedition  may  be  concealed. 

"For  we  have  a  serious  purpose,  though  this  is 
not  the  time  or  place  to  make  known  to  you  what 
that  purpose  is.  Moreover,  my  lads,  all  you  who 
are  determined  to  go  must  be  strictly  punctual.  I 
have  nothing  more  to  say  at  present." 

With  these  words,  Mr.  Morton  descended  from 
his  elevated  position  on  the  bench  under  the  great 
tree,  and  the  boys  crowded  about  him,  eager,  full 
of  questions,  and  promising  without  fail  to  be 
present  at  the  appointed  time. 

*'You  can  leave  all  the  details  to  me,"  declared 
Mr.  Morton;  "whatever  is  required  for  the  ex- 
pedition will  be  forthcoming." 

"Mr.  Morton,"  urged  Jack,  somewhat  subdued 
in  speaking  to  the  older  man,  "why  do  you  come 
with  us  at  all  ?  You  can  plan  everything  and  leave 
us  to  put  the  plans  into  execution." 

Mr.  Morton  fixed  his  eyes  upon  the  lad,  as  Jade 
continued  to  explain  his  idea. 


iia      Ml.  MosTON  Holm  a  Mbruco. 

"Because  you  see  it's  this  way,  if  anything  should 
be  found  out  it  is  better,  as  you  said  a  while  ago, 
that  it  should  be  charged  to  the  boys." 

Mr.  Morton  still  looked  thoughtful,  but  presently 
he  said : 

"Ah,  but  there's  another  side  to  the  matter. 
Should  the  affair  become  serious  and  have  any 
grave  consequences,  which  I  trust  may  not  be  the 
case,  I  must  be  in  a  position  to  say:  These  boys 
were  only  my  instruments ;  I  accept  the  responsibil- 
ity of  what  has  been  done  and  I  am  prepared  to 
give  satisfactory  reasons  for  my  acts." 

Jack's  face  fell  ?  little.  For,  in  truth,  he  was 
a  boy  who  liked  to  act  as  Icider  and  was  never 
quite  contentec  in  being  merely  a  subordinate.  How- 
ever, it  was  not  a  point  which  admitted  of  argu- 
ment. She  iiad  run  out  of  the  garden,  where  she 
boys  and  returned  to  his  home.  There  he  found 
Marjorie  waiting  for  him  in  considerable  excite- 
ment. She  had  run  out  of  the  garden  where  she 
had  been  playing  with  Mary  and  Dolly  Martin  in 
the  soft,  calm  starlight.  She  had  divined  that 
something  unusual  was  on  foot  and  she  was  a  little 
resentful  that  the  girls  could  have  no  show  in  the 
frolic  of  which  her  father  had  spoken, 

"Never  mind,  Marjorie,  old  girl,"  said  the  in- 


Mr.  Morton  Holds  a  Meeting.  113 

dulgent  parent;  "if  all  goes  well  we  shall  have 
such  a  celebration  on  Thursday  night  as  Ironton 
has  never  seen." 

"Thursday,  papa?  But  Mary  will  be  gone." 

"And  that  would  ^«  to  have  Hamlet  with  the  prince 
of  Denmark  left  out,"  laughed  Mr.  Morton,  "but, 
perhaps,  we  can  manafje  to  keep  her  a  little  longer." 

"Oh,  do  you  think  so?"  questioned  Marjorie  joy- 
fully. Then  her  face  clouded  over.  She  suddenly  re- 
membered the  visit  to  Hornby  Hall  and  the  look  and 
tone  of  old  Mr.  Pemberton  as  he  said  to  Mary :  "You 
will  return  on  the  same  day  and  hour  next  week. 
I  shall  wait  for  you,  with  my  watch  in  my  hand." 

"I  am  afraid  her  grandfather  will  be  very  angry," 
Marjorie  suggested,  "and  that  awful  Mrs.  Miles. 
Mary  is  so  much  afraid  of  her." 

"We  must  see  if  we  can't  protect  Mar>  against 
this  bugaboo  Mrs.  Miles,"  said  the  father,  con- 
fidently. "So  don't  worry,  little  girl.  As  I  said, 
if  all  goes  well  we  shall  have  our  celebration,  with 
Mafy  Pembcrtoj      gfuest  of  honor." 

With  this  Mai  rie  had  to  be  content,  and  giving 
her  father  a  parting  hug,  she  ran  off  to  join  her 
friends,  followed  with  great  bounds  by  Nero,  who 
barked  his  appreciation  of  the  fun  and  leaped  the 
garden  fence  as  if  to  have  his  share  in  the  game. 


CHAPTER  X. 


THE  LONG  BARN. 

NOW  Mr.  Morton,  to  prevent  all  anxiety  on  the 
part  of  parents,  had  telephoned  to  each  of 
the  boys'  respective  households  that  he  was  taking 
the  lads  with  him  on  a  certain  expedition  and  that 
if  they  were  delayed  after  the  usual  hour  of  return- 
ing there  was  no  cause  for  anxiety.  He  was  a 
little  fearful  of  the  responsibility  he  was  taking, 
but  he  felt  that  the  cause  was  a  good  one,  justify- 
ing some  risk,  and  that  there  was  scarcely  a  chance 
of  any  harm  coming  to  the  devoted  little  band. 
The  terrors  which  they  should  have  to  face  and 
which  gave  zest  to  the  undertaking  would  be  chiefly 
those  of  the  imagination. 

The  night  appointed  for  the  proposed  expedition 
was  as  dark  as  the  most  romantic  lover  of  ad- 
venture could  have  desired.   There  was  no  moon 

114 


The  Long  Barn. 


"5 


and  the  stars,  faint  in  the  haze  of  heat,  gave  little 
light.  The  air  was  still  and  sultry,  as  if  somewhere 
a  storm  might  be  lurking,  and  flashes  of  sheet  light- 
ning occasionally  lit  up  the  heavens.  The  boys  set 
out,  resolute  and  brave,  all  intensely  in  earnest, 
though  they  had  no  idea  that  anything  of  conse- 
quence was  at  stake.  A  stout  stick  was  provided 
for  each  one  of  the  party,  and  these,  with  a  couple 
of  dark  lanterns  and  a  rope  which  Mr.  Morton 
fancied  might  bt  useful,  constituted  the  equipment. 

They  met,  with  much  secrecy,  under  the  trees  in 
Mayfair,  talking  in  whispers  and  feeling  generally 
as  if  they  belonged  to  some  desperate  association 
and  were  setting  out  upon  an  expedition  of  awful 
import.   Mr.  Morton  gave  the  word  to  move: 

"Are  all  here?"  he  asked,  in  a  cautious  whisper. 
"Steady  then,  lads,  and  away.  Keep  close  together, 
talk  little,  and  be  prepared  to  obey  orders.'* 

There  was  a  delicious  thrill  in  the  breast  of  every 
boy,  as  they  all  plunged  into  the  darkness,  Jack  and 
Dick  walking  ahead  with  Mr.  Morton,  whiie  Hugh 
and  the  elder  Wallace  followed  close  upon  tiieir 
steps  and  Luke  and  George  Wallace  brought  up 
the  rear. 

"Isn't  it  prime?"  whispered  Luke.  "Mr.  Morton's 
a  brick." 


ii6 


The  Long  Barn. 


"You  bet !"  answered  Med  Wallace  sententiously. 
"I  wonder  where  we're  going!" 

"To  Hornby  Hall,"  promptly  answered  Hugh 
Graham. 

"Not  to  the  house!"  chorused  the  three  others 
with  some  awe. 

"No,  I  think  net/'  admitted  Hugh;  "I  wonder 
what  we're  going  to  do?" 

"We're  going  to  a  mighty  creepy  place,  any- 
way!" Ned  Wallace  declared,  with  a  note  of  exal- 
tation iu  his  voice.  "Have  any  of  you  fellows  been 
there  after  nightfall?" 

It  transpired  that  they  all  had  been  there,  taking 
observations  from  various  points. 

"I'm  not  funking,  nor  anything  of  that  sort," 
went  on  Ned,  "but  I'm  glad  we're  not  going  into 
the  house." 

"I  don't  know,"  Hugh  said,  "I  almost  wish  we 
were.   It  would  be  so  exciting." 

For  this  shy  lad  had  a  bold  and  daring  spirit 
which  would  stop  at  nothirf^. 

"Oh,  it  will  be  excitini;  enough,  aH  right,  when 
we  get  there,"  Ned  predicted  with  confidence. 

"Mr.  Morton's  lantern  and  slouched  hat  make 
him  look  like  a  burglar,"  whispered  George  Wal- 
lace to  Luke  Morris. 


The  Long  Barn. 


117 


Luke  giggled. 

"I  know  we're  going  in  somewhere  or  we 
wouldn't  need  lanterns,"  observed  Hugh  Graham. 

"Into  some  outhouse,  I  guess,"  said  Ned  Wal- 
lace, with  faint  uneasiness.  Ned  was  no  coward, 
but  he  did  not  want  to  run  too  great  a  risk. 

As  the  party  neared  its  destination,  all  conversa- 
tion ceased  and  the  boys  pushed  on  after  their  leader 
in  a  silence  which  was  full  of  excitement.  The  air 
grew  cooler  somewhat  as  they  proceeded,  and  along 
Jie  way  they  were  met  by  the  odors  of  many 
gardens  and  the  scent  of  blossoming  trees. 

Suddenly,  at  a  turn  of  the  road,  Hornby  Hall 
came  into  sight,  standing  far  back  amongst  the 
trees,  white  and  cold  and  ghostly  in  the  tmcertain 
light.  The  band  of  adventurers  stood  still  a 
moment,  and  after  that  their  movent  jnts  became 
more  cautious  and  furtive.  They  did  not  proceed 
up  the  avenue  with  its  stiff  rows  of  poplars,  but 
struck  into  a  stubble-field  which  flanked  it.  They 
had  now  to  advance  slowly  and  with  the  greatest 
care,  for  the  ground  was  uneven  and  there  were 
many  pitfalls  and  snares  for  the  footsteps  of  the 
unwary.  They  reached  a  point  presently  where 
they  had  a  rear  view  of  the  house,  the  stables  and 
outhouses,  and  the  high-walled  garden. 


iiS  The  Long  Barn. 

Here  they  stopped  and  took  observations,  each 
boy  with  bated  breath  and  beating  heart.  Every- 
thing lay  ghastly  white  and  still.  Not  a  point  of 
light  anywhere,  not  the  slightest  movement.  Had 
Hornby  Hall  been  deserted,  it  could  not  have  been 
more  fearfully  quiet. 

"So  far  so  goodl"  said  Mr.  Morton.  "And 
now,  my  lads,  over  that  hedge,  and  if  the  courtyard 
gate  be  open  our  path  is  clear.  If  not,  we  will  have 
to  make  a  considerable  detour  to  reach  the  long 
bam." 

"The  long  barn!"  the  boys  simultaneously  ex- 
claimed in  a  whisper  which  despite  them  was 
tremulous. 

"I  can  take  you  there  with  absolute  certainty 
if  we  are  not  discovered.  I  know  every  inch  of  the 
ground.  I  spent  my  holidays  at  the  Hall  when  I 
was  a  boy  at  college." 

The  boys  looked  at  him  as  if  this  circumstance 
gave  him  a  new  and  strange  interest 

"And  now,  soft  and  still.  I  will  get  over  yonder 
hedge  first  to  see  if  the  gate  is  open.  If  I  wave 
my  lantern,  you  will  all  follow  at  once,  and  then 
comes  the  greatest  point  of  danger.  Inside  the  gate 
there  is  a  passage,  rather  narrow,  leading  past  some 
of  the  side  windows  of  the  house  to  the  courtyard. 


The  Long  Bakn. 


119 


We  have  to  pass  through  that,  with  the  fear  of 
Argus  eyes  being  upon  us  or  our  movements  over- 
heard by  ears  trained  to  catch  the  slightest  soimd. 
So,  soft  and  still.   Hold  your  very  breath !" 

Mr.  Morton  vaulted  lightly  over  the  hedge  and 
instantly  waved  his  unlit  lantern.  The  gate  st'~jd 
open,  a  gaunt  shape  in  the  darkness,  and  through 
it  they  passed,  with  a  feeling  in  the  breast  of  every 
boy  that  he  was  going  to  his  doom.  For  the  shadow 
of  the  house  was  upon  them,  that  house  of  mystery 
and  horror,  and  it  was  so  near,  so  appallingly  near. 
The  windows  seemed  to  look  down  on  them  like 
frowning,  sullen  faces.  There  was  the  thrill  of  a 
forlorn  hope  in  their  veins  as  they  followed  Mr. 
Morton,  with  cautious,  creeping  footsteps,  through 
that  narrow  passage,  feeling  each  moment  as  if  a 
hand  might  be  outstretched  to  catch  them  or  a 
harsh  voice  sound  in  their  ears. 

At  last  they  reached  the  courtyard,  where,  at 
least,  there  was  breadth  and  they  could  avoid  close 
contact  with  the  house.  Mr.  Morton  breathed  more 
freely.  The  Argus  eyes,  he  thought,  must  be  closed 
in  a  deeper  sleep  than  normal.  Still  he  did  not 
relax  his  vigilance.  The  one  who  might  be  watching 
them  was  cunning  and  would  give  no  sign.  The 
party  passed  through  the  courtyard,  however,  sciil 


I2C 


The  Long  Barn. 


undisturbed  by  sound  or  sight.  Presently  there 
was  the  outline  of  a  long,  low  building,  remote  from 
all  the  other  outbuildings. 

"That  is  the  long  bam!"  announced  Mr.  Morton, 
"and  we  have  come  to  search  the  long  barn." 

There  was  something  delightful  and  mysterious 
in  the  idea  of  a  search,  implying  possible  strange 
discoveries  and  hidden  treasures. 

"Keep  close  now!"  commanded  Mr.  Morton, 
"and  follow  me!  The  long  barn  might  chance  to 
have  a  tenant." 

His  face  looked  grim  as  he  said  those  words  and 
he  grasped  the  rope  more  tightly  in  his  left  hand. 

"A  tenant!"  he  repeated,  having  before  his 
mind's  eyes  the  one  who  might  be  there.  To  the 
boys  the  idea  suggested  was  one  of  nameless  horror. 
It  might  be  any  one  or  any  thing,  they  thought,  with 
shivers  of  the  old  creepiness  which  had  alwajrs  come 
over  them  in  their  expeditions  to  Hornby  Hall.  The 
atmosphere  seemed  suddenly  to  have  a  chi?1  '  ■  it, 
unwholesome,  fetid,  as  from  a  swamp.  M..  Mor- 
ton paused  to  listen.  All  was  still.  He  lifted  the 
latch,  while  the  boys  could  almost  hear  the  beating 
of  their  own  hearts,  fearful  of  w  -at  might  be  dis- 
closed on  opening  the  door.  Even  their  grown-up 
leader  felt  that  it  would  be,  to  say  the  least,  un- 


The  Long  Basn. 


121 


comfortable  should  he  find  himself  confronted  by 
the  face  of  Mrs.  Miles.  Mary  had  said  that  she 
often  visited  this  place  by  night.  Still,  he  had  in 
his  mind  the  plan  of  action  to  be  adopted  in  such 

an  emergency. 

When  he  actually  opened  the  door,  the  place  was 
dark  and  silent.  No  ray  of  light  came  out  into  the 
night,  only  the  smell  of  hay  and  flying  particles  of 
grain  or  dust  stirred  by  the  sudden  entrance  of  the 
air.  Mr.  Morton  hastily  stepped  across  the  threshold, 
signaling  for  the  boys  to  follow  him.  Wiien  the 
door  was  closed  again,  he  cautiously  lit  one  of  the 
lanterns  and  took  a  hasty  survey  of  the  big,  empty 
bam,  with  its  bare  walls,  its  dusty  floor,  and  the 
roof  overhead,  gloomy  and  impenetrable,  wrapped 
in  darkness. 

"We  must  place  a  couple  of  sentries  outside," 
Mr,  Morton  said;  "it  would  never  do  to  let  our- 
selves be  approached  unawares." 

For  Mr.  Morton  reckoned  all  the  time  upon  Mrs. 
Miles,  being  desperately  cunning,  and  knew  that 
she  might  have  been  observing  their  movements  for 
some  time  and  might,  consequently,  play  them  a 
trick. 

"Who  will  volunteer  for  sentry  duty  ?"  he  asked. 
Now,  this  was  a  very  hard  part  of  the  service,  for 


122  The  Long  Barm. 

the  curiosity  of  all  the  boys  was  at  fever  heat  zsA 
they  burned  to  explore  this  mysterious  long  bam, 
the  very  name  of  which  was  ominous,  just  as  its 
interior  was  sinister  and  forbidding.  Moreover, 
it  was  not  the  plcasantest  thing  in  the  world  to  be 
stationed  outside  in  that  chill,  unnatural  atmo- 
sphere, with  the  chance  of  being  discovered  by  one 
of  those  dreaded  shapes  which  they  vaguely  believed 
to  belong  to  Hornby  Hall.  After  a  moment's 
silence,  Hugh  Graham,  who  had  the  spirit  of  a 
hero  in  him,  stepped  forward. 

"If  it  is  necessary,  sir,  I  will  do  it,"  he  declared, 

simply. 

"Thank  you,  Hugh,"  Mr.  Morton  said,  with  a 
grateful  glance  at  the  boy's  resolute  face.  "I  know 
it  is  hard  on  you  not  to  be  in  at  the  death,  when 
we  have,  so  to  say,  run  the  fox  to  earth.  But,  be- 
lieve me,  you  shall  know  and  see  whatever  we  may 
discover  as  soon  as  that  is  possible.  You  will  take 
the  end  of  the  bam  near  the  house  and  one  of  t'.  ;se 
other  lads  will  take  the  other.  You  are  the  tallest 
and  strongest,  Luke  Morris,  apart  from  Jack  and 
Dick,  whom  I  require  in  the  bam." 

Luke  reluctantly  consented  to  take  up  a  post  at 
the  other  end  of  the  barn,  and  followed  Hugh  out 
into  the  chill  of  the  night. 


The  Long  Barn. 


123 


The  landscape  looked  more  dreaiy  than  ever. 
There  was  no  smell  of  flowers  or  of  blossoming 
trees  to  sweeten  the  air.  The  wind  had  freshened 
into  gusts  which  sent  eddies  of  dust  into  the  boys* 

faces. 

"I  hope  they  won't  be  long  in  there,''  observed 
Luke  to  his  fellow  watcher.  "I  feel  as  if  I'd  like 
to  cut  and  run." 

"A  soldier  can't  desert  his  post,"  declared  Hugh, 
stoutly,  "and  we're  soldiers  for  the  time  being.  I 
don't  feel  a  bit  like  running.  I  feel  like  fighting 
and  as  if  I  would  be  rather  glad  if  some  one  should 
come  along  that  a  fellow  might  tackle." 

"Don't  I"  cried  Luke.  "There  isn't  any  one  round 
here  that  could  be  tackled,"  and  he  looked  around 
him  in  the  darkness  as  if  he  fancied  that  si^  a 
wish  as  his  <x»npanion  had  expressed  must  be  fol- 
lowed by  the  immediate  apparition  of  some  one. 

"And  just  think  of  the  girl,"  said  Hugh,  in  his 
fine,  manly  way,  "who  has  to  live  here  all  the  time. 
If  we  can  help  her,  I  don't  mind  anything." 

With  an  almost  weird  vividness  the  picture  of 
that  girl  came  up  in  the  minds  of  both  boys.  A 
something  forlorn  in  her  appearance,  an  appealing 
sadness  in  her  brown  eyes,  which  yet  could  sparkle 
with  fun,  the  sober  coloring  of  her  clothes,  her  dif- 


124  Thb  Lohg  Babk. 

ference  from  most  girls,  seemed  to  show  that  slie 
bore  about  her  the  shadow  of  this  place. 

"I  guess  I  wouldn't  like  to  have  to  live  here  al-  • 
ways !"  Luke  said.  He  was  standing  quite  dose  to 
Hugh,  thus  in  a  sense  deserting  his  post,  while 
Hugh  stood  resolutely  upon  the  spot  indicated  by 
Mr.  Morton.  "It's  the  meanest,  snakiest  place  I  ever 
saw  and  I  guess  the  folks  in  it  aren't  any  better." 

Here  a  pair  of  hands,  protruding  from  some- 
where, caught  each  of  the  boys  in  a  vise-like  grip. 
Their  heads  were  brought  together  and  deliberately 
knocked  very  hard.  It  must  be  confessed  that  Luke 
collapsed  altogether  under  this  attack,  which  was 
all  the  more  dreadful  that  it  was  both  mysterious 
and  unexpected.    But  Hugh's  courage  rose.  He 
deliberately  struggled  bravely  in  the  strong  grasp 
and  called  out  repeated  words  of  warning  in  a 
high,  firm  voice.   Unfortunately,  the  warning  was 
unhJard,  and  a  hand  was  pressed  firmly  over  his 
mouth.    Another  instant  and  the  hand  was  re- 
placed by  a  handkerchief,  which  gagged  him  com- 
pletely.   His  hands  were  drawn  behind  his  back 
and  bound  together  securely.  Luke,  who  lay  upon 
the  ground,  not  daring  so  much  as  to  look  up.  was 
similarly  treated  and  both  boys  were  laid  helpless, 
side  by  side,  on  the  ground. 


CHAPTER  XI. 


TBB  LOFT  OVSR  THE  LONG  BARN  aNO  WHAT  WAS 

IN  IT. 

MEANWHILE  Mr.  Morton  had  not  been  idle 
within  the  )  ^ng  bam.  He  was,  !n  fact,  so 
occupied  and  so  engrossed  with  what  was  taking 
place  that  Hugh's  warn,  ig  fell  upon  deaf  ears. 
"A  boy  will  have  to  go  into  that  loft,"  he  declared. 
Jack  and  Dick  both  volunteered  immediately,  but 
Mr.  Morton  decided  the  matter  in  his  brisk  fashion. 

"Dick  shall  go  up,"  he  decided,  "and  you.  Jack, 
shall  be  his  ladder.  Get  up  here  on  this  round  of 
wood." 

Jack,  who  was  not  altogether  pleased  with  this 
subordinate  post,  stepped  onto  the  round  stump  of 
a  tree  which  had  evidently  been  used  for  sawing 
purposes. 

"Now  stand  firm,  brace  yourself  against  the  wall 
and  I  will  hoist  Dick  onto  your  shoulders.  Wait 

«5 


126      The  Loft  Over  the  Long  Barn 

a  momtnt.  Dick ;  here,  let  me  put  this  rope  about 
you — it  will  be  useful  in  coming  down." 

Dick  obeyed  and  was  quickly  hoisted  into  position 
on  Jack's  shoulders,  where  he  was  presently  stand- 
ing upright  sustained  by  Mr.  Morton  and  the  wall 
in  front  of  him.  He  was  in  a  position  to  grasp  the 
flooring  of  the  loft,  and  at  the  word  of  cOTunand 
from  Mr.  Morton  swung  himself  up.  He  was  too 
excited  to  feel  fear  of  this  mysterious  region,  which 
looked  so  dark  and  uninviting.  Once  landed,  Mr. 
Morton  commanded  him : 

"Reach  dowi.  now  for  a  lantern!"  Dick  Dalton 
did  so,  taking  the  lig'-t  from  Mr.  Morton's  hand. 

"Now,  my  boy,"  t'le  leader  directed,  "leave  not 
a  corner  of  that  loft  unsearched.  Report  to  me 
every  object  you  find  there,  and  look  in  every  crack 
and  crevice.  For  we  want  to  find  a  will,  my  boy, 
a  will  that  will  give  us  Mary  to  keep  forever." 

The  boys  all  were  excited  by  this  time  and  J?ck 
looked  curiously  up  at  his  friend. 

"I  wish  I  too  could  go  up,  sir!  I  think  I  could 
manage  to  climb  without  assistance,"  he  pleaded. 

"You  might  get  up  all  right,"  declared  Mr. 
Morton,  "but  how  about  you,  or  Dicky  either,  get- 
ting down?  You  see  Dick  will  require  a  ladder  to 
get  down  on." 


Akd  What  Was  ik  it.  127 

Jade  was  forced  to  stand  discontentedly  by  while 
Dick  disappeared  in  the  darkness. 

"There  seems  to  be  another  rooml"  he  called 
down. 

"Another  room!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Morton. 
"Hurry,  and  tell  us  whether  there  is  anything  in  it." 

Dick  pushed  open  a  door,  which  gave  a  strange, 
creaking,  jarring  sound,  and  he  uttered  an  ex- 
clamation of  surprise. 

"It  is  full  of  things!"  he  called  down. 

Jack  groaned. 

"Let  us  sec  some  of  them,"  Mr.  Monon  com- 
manded. 

Dick,  after  fumbling  about  a  few  moments  longer, 
presently  threw  down  c;  bundle  containing  what 
seemed  to  be  clothes  folded  loosely  together.  In 
the  light  of  the  lantern,  there  was  the  sparkle  of 
something  bright  about  them.  Mr.  Morton  looked 
closer. 

"By  all  that's  wonderful,  a  regimental  coat!"  he 
cried.  He  looked  still  closer,  examining  one  detail 
after  another  of  that  strange  discovery.  Then  he 
gave  a  subdued  cry. 

"Phil  Pemberton's  uniform!"  adding  under  his 
breath,  "that  he  was  accused  of  selling  to  pay 
some  debt." 


128      The  Loft  Over  the  Long  Barn 

"Uncle  Harry!"  cried  Dick  in  high  excitement 
from  above,  "there's  jewelry  up  here." 

"What!  Jewelry?"  asked  Mr.  Morton,  in  quick, 
hurried  tones.  His  face  was  very  pale.  He  seemed 
to  be  on  the  track  of  a  mystery  more  singular  than 
any  which  had  as  yet  enshrouded  Hornby  Hall." 

"There  is  a  bracelet!"  cried  Dick,  and  he  drew 
near  to  the  edge  of  the  loft,  holding  up  something 
which  caught  the  lantern  light  on  a  shining 
surface. 

"An  amethyst  bracelet?"  Mr.  Morton  inquired, 
in  the  same  breathless  tone. 

"Yes,  and  a  couple  of  rings,  and  a  watch  with 
a  single  diamond  in  the  cover." 

"For  the  stealing  of  these  jewels  Hester  Prim- 
rose and  Malachy  O'Rourke  were  brought  before 
the  magistrate,"  said  Mr.  Morton  in  a  hushed  voice, 
as  though  speaking  to  himself  and  forgetting  the 
presence  of  the  boys.  "The  man  escaped  by  some 
flaw  in  the  evidence  and  left  the  country  still  under 
suspicion,  and  the  woman  served  a  term  in  prison." 

Jack  and  George,  made  round-eyed  with  wonder, 
gazed  in  bewilderment  at  Mr.  Morton.  They  felt 
as  if  they  were  in  a  dream  and  as  if  their  leader 
had  suddenly  become  crazy.  Meanwhile  Mr.  Mor- 
ton stood  as  one  dazed,  recalling  with  a  vividness 


And  What  Was  in  it.  129 

of  recollectioi.  hat  was  -r— tling  how  he.  as  a  boy, 
had  tried  and  f  r  ied  to  c'  mb  into  that  loft,  which 
was  even  then  a  y.:^':"  -)<"  mystery.  Phil  Petnberton 
alone  liad  succeeded  and  had  been  very  proud  of 
his  achievement,  describing,  with  a  quite  patron- 
izing tone,  to  Harry  Morton  and  the  other  boys 
what  the  place  was  like. 

"There's  a  big  loft  and  there's  a  room  oft  it  that 
I  guess  was  meant  for  a  stable  boy  to  sleep  in,  and 
there's  a  good  deal  of  rubbish  lying  around.  It's 
a  jolly  good  hiding-place,  anyhow." 

Mr.  Morton  seemed  to  hear  Phil's  boyish  voice 
again,  and  he  recalled  how  Phil  had  further  con- 
fided in  him  alone :  "While  I  was  poking  around,"  he 
had  said,  "my  foot  knocked  against  a  board  in  the 
far  corner  of  the  loft,  and  when  I  examined  it  I  saw 
it  was  made  almost  lil'  e  a  door,  with  a  hinge  on  it. 
I  opened  it,  and  there  was  as  neat  a  little  cupboard 
as  could  be." 

Phil,  the  adventurous  climber,  the  gay  companion, 
had  grown  into  a  jovial,  generous-hearted,  careless 
man  and  was  dead  long  since,  while  his  father  had 
changed  from  an  ordinary  stem  man  of  arbitrary 
nature  into  something  terrible  and  malign.  Hornby 
had  fallen,  as  it  were,  under  a  curse  and  had  become 
a  byword  in  the  neighborhood. 


130      The  Loft  Over  the  Long  Barn 

But  that  chance  discovery  o.'  Philip  Pcmberton's 
long  ago  flashed  into  Mr.  Morton's  mind  as  he 
heard  Dicky  proclaiming  that  there  were  heaps  of 
things  above,  ladies'  dresses,  and  boxes  full  of  or- 
naments and  strange-looking  toys,  but  not  a  bit  of 
paper  anywhere.  Mr.  Morton  drew  closer : 

"Dick,"  he  said  in  a  whisper,  as  if  he  feared  the 
walls  had  ears,  "go  to  the  right-hand,  farthest 
comer  of  the  loft  and  feel  about  till  you  find  what 
seems  to  be  a  loose  board." 

Dick  obeyed  and  Mr.  Morton  waited  with  breath- 
less attention.  Even  if  the  hiding-place  could  be 
found,  which  F\v\  would  probably  have  thought  of 
and  used  when  secreting  his  will,  there  was  just 
one  chance  in  a  hundred  that  I^Irs.  Miles  did  not 
know  of  it  from  the  first,  or  stumble  upon  it  in 
some  of  her  excursions  to  the  barn.  For  it  was 
evident  that  she  liad  frequently  visited  the  loft  by 
means,  no  doubt,  of  the  ladder  the  loss  of  which 
Mary  had  heard  her  deploring. 

Mr.  Morton  strongly  suspected  she  had  hidden 
away  there  a  number  of  articles — articles  the  dis- 
appearance of  which  had  brought  trouble  and  dis- 
grace upon  others. 

Dick  felt  about  for  some  time  in  the  dark  corner 
of  the  loft,  where  the  cobwebs  hung  thick  and  the 


And  What  Was  in  it.  131 


dust  almost  ch'  ''ed  him.  He  set  the  lantern  beside 
him  upon  the  floor  and  passed  his  hand  over  every 
board,  stooping  low  that  he  might  not  strike  his 
head  where  the  roof  of  the  barn  sloped  down  to  the 
floor.  At  first  he  could  find  nothing,  and  Mr.  Mor- 
ton, waiting,  found  the  time  very  long.  At  last 
Dick  cried  out: 

"I've  got  the  place,  sir.  The  board  opens  and—" 

"What  is  there?"  questioned  Mr.  Morton  breath- 
lessly, "a  place  like  a  cupboard?" 

His  voice  was  husky  with  emotion. 

"Yes,  sir,  and  there  are — papers!" 

"Papers!"  cried  Mr.  Morton,  fairly  tremb'  ng 
with  eagerness.  "Take  them  all,  Dicky,  every 
scrap  of  them." 

Dicky  was  heard  rustling  amongst  papers.  Jack 
gave  a  quick,  warning  cry,  George  Wallace  some- 
thing like  a  shriek,  and  Mr.  Morton  turning  sud- 
denly found  himself  confronted  by  the  ghastly  face 
of  Mrs.  Miles,  whiter  than  ever,  full  of  a  deadly 
malignity  and  an  almost  insane  fury.  Such  a  smile 
was  upon  her  face  as  once  seen  would  be  remem- 
bered for  a  lifetime. 

Mr.  Morton  uttered  an  exclamation,  but  the 
woman  spoke  no  word — simply  transfixed  him  with 
that  look,  which  sent  the  blood  curdling  in  his 


132      The  Loft  Over  the  Long  Barn 

veins,  brave  man  that  he  was.  In  common  with 
the  other  boys  and  girls,  he  had  feared  her  in  his 
childhood,  but  how  much  more  dreadful  she  actually 
was  than  the  creature  of  his  imagination!  It 
seemed  as  if  all  the  evil  deeds  she  had  done  had 
accumulated  their  traces  on  her  face  in  broad  lines 
for  all  to  read.  Unlike  the  others  at  the  Hall,  her 
hair  had  not  grown  gray,  but  was  of  a  vivid  red, 
contrasting  with  small,  gray  eyes,  bereft  of  lashes, 
which  somehow  gave  the  effect  of  being  forever 
open. 

As  she  looked  at  Mr.  Morton  with  that  evil  look 
and  ugly  smile,  he  saw  in  her  thin,  claw-iike  hands 
a  key.  He  glanced  at  the  door.  She  had  locked  it. 
Following  his  glance,  she  spoke  at  last.  Her  tones 
were  icy  and  rang  hollow  through  the  barn;  they 
reached  upward  to  the  loft,  so  tliat  Dicky  when  he 
heard  them  shrieked  in  common  with  the  other  boys 
below. 

"Do  you  think,"  she  said,  "that  he  will  ever  come 
down  from  there  with  his  precious  find?  Do  you 
think  I  will  let  you  help  him  down  as  you  helped 
him  up  ?  Do  you  think  that  I  will  be  baffled  ?  No ! 
I  shall  do  something  which  will  defeat  all  your 
finely  laid  plans." 

"You  are  mad!"  said  Mr.  Morton,  coldly,  "and 


And  What  Was  in  it.  133 


probably  have  been  so  for  years,  which  may  explain 
some  of  your  doings." 

And  yet  her  threat,  vague  though  it  was,  made 
Mr.  Morton  feel  uneasy,  and  he  wished  that  they 
all  were  safely  out  of  the  business — ^he  and  these 
boys  whom  he  had  brought  into  it.  He  was  not  a 
pre-eminently  religious  man.  But  he  was  a  practical 
Catholic  and  had  great  faith.  So  that  he  immediately 
thought  of  praying,  a  short  but  fervent  prayer. 
His  wife  was  praying  at  home,  he  knew,  in  the 
oratory.  He  could  get  help  from  the  Sacred  Heart 
he  hottorcd  every  month  by  going  to  communion 
with  his  wife  and  giving  an  example  to  other  men 
of  the  place,  who  argued  somewhat  in  this  fashion: 

"There's  Morton,  who  is  a  regular  tip-top  swell 
and  a  jolly  good  fellow,  as  well  as  a  shrewd  business 
man.  He  isn't  ashamed  to  be  seen  going  to  the 
altar." 

And  this  train  of  reasoning  brought  others  to 
the  altar,  too,  just  as  Jack's  and  Dick  Dalton's 
regular  attendance  at  the  monthly  communion 
caused  many  a  boy  to  do  likewise. 

Mr.  Morton  stood,  therefore,  in  that  big,  dimly 
lighted  barn  and  prayed  that  the  schemes  of  this 
wicked  woman  might  be  baffled,  so  that  more  than 
one  hidden  injustice  might  be  brought  to  light.  And 


134      The  Loft  Over  the  Long  Barn 

as  he  prayed  he  said  as  if  by  inspiration,  scarcely 
knowing  why  himself: 

"Take  care!  Remember  Mr.  Philip  and  Miss 
Bessie  Morton,  who  became  his  wife,  and  the  others 
whom  you  have  wronged  !** 

The  woman  cowered  as  though  she  had  been 
struck.  She  staggered  back  against  the  wall,  her  eyes 
staring  into  Mr.  Morton's  face,  her  lips  contracted, 
the  key  falling  to  the  floor.  Mr.  Morton,  who  had 
used  the  words  only  in  a  general  and  indefinite 
sense,  could  not  understand  the  effect  he  had  pro- 
duced, but  he  took  immediate  advantage  of  it. 
Quick  as  a  flash  he  seized  the  key  and  then,  with- 
out violence,  but  firmly  and  strongly,  he  pushed 
her  through  a  half  open  door  which  led  into  a 
small  room  partitioned  oflf  from  the  barn.  He  held 
the  door  firmly  on  the  outside  while  he  called  to 
Jack: 

"Quick!  The  padlock  from  the  outer  door!" 

This  being  obtained,  it  was  but  the  work  of  a 
moment  to  secVire  the  entrance  to  the  primitive 
compartment. 

"Now,"  he  cried,  "we  must  make  haste  to  get 
Dicky  down  and  away  from  this  accursed  spot  as 
soon  as  possible.  Never  did  a  darker  cloud  of 
treachery  and  perhaps  worse  hang  over  any  place." 


And  What  Was  in  it.  135 

Mrs.  Miles  within  the  compartment  preserved  a 
silence  which  was  more  awful  than  any  speech 
could  havw  been,  and  suggested  that  the  fertile 
mind  of  the  spider-like  woman  might  be  intent  upon 
some  new  evil  device. 

The  boys  meanwhile  stood  with  white  faces, 
visibly  quaking  with  fear.    For  Mrs.  Miles'  ap- 
pearance and  manner  had  been  something  altogether 
outside  of  their  experience,  and  justified  the  very 
worst  they  had  ever  heard  concerning  Hornby  Hall 
and  its  inmates.    To  get  Dicky  down  was  a  much 
more  difficult  task  than  ii  had  been  to  get  him  up, 
but  it  was  finally  accomplished.   Attaching  an  end 
of  the  rope  which  Mr.  Morton  had  put  round  his 
body  to  one  of  the  beams  in  the  ceiling,  Dicky  let 
himself  slide  down  till  his  feet  touched  Jack's 
shoulders.   Mr.  Morton  seized  him  and  held  him 
firmly  as  soon  as  he  came  near,  for  greater  security. 
Every  one  drew  a  breath  of  relief  when  Dicky  was 
landed  safe  upon  the  floor.   For  so  strained  were 
their  nerves  by  the  appearance  of  Mrs.  Miles  and 
the  knowledge  that  she  still  was  near  that  they 
feared  there  might  be  an  accident. 

'T  wonder  what  has  become  of  our  sentries !"  ex- 
claimed Mr.  Morton;  "surely  they  did  not  desert 
before  the  fight  was  well  begun." 


136      The  Loft  Over  the  Long  Bakn 

As  he  spoke  thus,  he  gathered  up  the  rope,  the 
lanterns,  and  stored  away  with  the  utmost  care  the 
papers  Dicky  gave  him,  and  which,  from  a  hasty 
glance,  he  believed  to  be  precisely  what  they  had 
come  to  seek.  While  he  was  thus  occupied  there 
was  heard  a  curious  creaking  and  straining:  sound 
from  within  the  adjoining  room.  After  listening 
a  moment  or  so,  Mr.  Morton  went  over  and  un- 
locked the  door.  Too  late!  the  place  was  empty, 
a  small  window  which  he  had  forgotten  stood  open. 
With  a  cry  of  vexation,  he  left  the  barn  hastily, 
calling  upon  the  boys  to  put  out  the  lanterns  and 
follow  him  at  once,  keeping  very  close  together. 

But  outside  the  long  barn  was  another  delay. 
The  boys  they  had  supposed  had  run  away 
lay  upon  the  ground;  breathing  with  some  difficulty 
because  of  the  bandage  over  their  mouth.  Luke 
was  badly  scared,  but  Hugh  got  up  with  a  brave 
smile. 

"Are  you  hurt  ?"  Mr.  Morton  asked  eagerly,  for- 
getting all  else. 

"Oh,  no,  just  shaken  up  and  out  of  breath,"  said 
Hugh.  "She  came  upon  us  so  suddenly;  I  tried 
to  warn  you  by  calling,  till  the  voman  gagged  me 
and  threw  me  down." 

"It  wasn't  a  woman  at  all !"  cried  Luke,  with  a 


And  What  Was  in  it.  137 

shudder.  "It  was  some  awful  thing.  Hugh  did 
call  out  as  loud  as  he  could." 

"I  thought  I  heard  a  call,"  said  Mr.  Morton, 
"but  we  .vere  all  busy  at  the  moment,  hoisting 
Dick  up,  and  as  it  was  not  repeated,  I  thought  my 
ears  had  deceived  me.  But  it  will  be  all  right  now, 
if  we  once  can  get  clear  of  the  grounds." 

Somehow  he  felt  uneasy  indeed,  for  he  knew 
that  Mrs.  Miles  was  a  woman  of  resources  and  that 
she  was  just  now  desperate.  He  marshalled  his 
little  force  in  close  order,  keeping  every  one  under 
his  immediate  eye,  aiui  so  they  pushed  on  till  they 
found  themselves  once  more  in  the  courtyard.  They 
crept  along  in  the  shado*/  of  the  outbuildings  till 
they  had  almost  reached  the  narrow  lane,  which 
was  the  point  of  danger.  Suddenly  they  all  stood 
still  with  one  accord,  their  further  progress  arrested 
by  a  strange  sight. 


CHAPTER  XII. 


MRS.  MILES  PLAYS  A  COMEDY. 

THE  whole  of  Hornby  Hall,  or  at  least  that 
portion  of  it  giving  upon  the  courtyard  in 
which  they  actually  were  and  the  lane  through  which 
they  had  to  pass,  was  suddenly  lit  up  as  by  a  flash. 
Electric  light  was  comparatively  little  used,  as  yet.  in 
Iron^'^n,  and  the  effect  was,  to  say  the  least,  startling, 
th^  '     e  so  that  it  proved  the  household  to  be  on 
the  alert.  The  boys  drew  closer  to  their  leader,  with 
the  flush  of  the  excitement  on  their  cheeks  and  a 
quick  beating  of  the  heart.    They  stood  still  for 
a  mom'^  .,  when  Mr.  Morton  ordered  them,  gazing 
at  that  Ill-starred  dwelling,  with  its  stem  walls  look- 
ing white  and  wan  in  the  glare  from  within.  A 
sound  passed  through  the  poplars,  the  moaning  of 
the  wind  in  their  tops,  which  seemed  to  the  excited 
fancy  of  the  listeners  like  some  sinister  prophecy 
of  evil.  But  within  the  mansion  everything  seemed 
still.  Not  a  sound  proceeded  from  door  or  window. 

Mr.  Morton,  bidding  ♦he  boys  remain  where  they 
were,  crept  forward  to  reconnoitre.   He  was  care- 
's* 


Mrs.  Miles  Plays  a  Comedy.  139 

ful  to  keq>  as  far  as  possible  out  of  range  of  any 
concealed  weapon  which  the  malice  of  Mrs.  Miles 
or  the  mistake  of  some  one  else  might  aim  at  him. 
For  what  more  likely  than  that  he  and  his  little  band 
might  be  mistaken  for  burglars,  even  though  Mrs. 
Miles  did  not  purposely  give  the  alarm? 

It  did  not  seem  probable  to  Mr.  Morton  that  Mrs. 
Miles  would  disclose  his  identity  to  her  master.  He 
became  somewhat  assured  that  there  were  many 
mysteries,  from  whicli  ti'.e  curtain  had  already  been 
partially  lifted  that  evening,  which  would  prevent 
her  from  so  acting.  But  the  woman  was  one  hard 
to  reckon  with,  and  there  was  always  the  possibility 
of  the  master  of  Hornby  hi  nself  being  on  the 
alert. 

However,  as  everything  seemed  quiet  when  he 
reached  the  entrance  to  the  lane,  he  swung  his  lan- 
tern as  a  signal  for  the  boys  to  come.  They  obeyed, 
hastening  forward  as  swiftly  and  silently  as  young 
Indians.  They  had  got  over  most  of  the  terror 
which  had  seized  them  in  the  long  bam  at  sig^t  of 
Mrs.  Miles,  and  now  some  of  them  were  almost 
wishing,  with  the  foolish  confidence  of  youth,  that 
something  would  ha])pen. 

They  followed  Mr.  Morton  into  the  lane,  where 
they  found  themselves  as  before  tuicomfortably 


140        Mrs.  Miles  Plays  a  Comedy. 

close  to  the  house,  the  light  now  throwing  each  of 
their  figures  into  distinct  relief.  And  when  they 
had  reached  about  the  middle  of  that  narrow 
passage,  they  saw  to  their  dismay  the  great  stone 
gate  at  the  end  swing  to  upon  its  hinges.  It  coukl 
not  be  opened  from  the  inside,  as  Mr.  Morton  well 
knew,  and  he  gave  a  Ic  ,v  cry  of  anger. 

As  they  stood  still  in  constertiation.  a  laugh 
which  was  like  no  sound  the  boys  had  ever  heard 
suddenly  hn^ke  on  the  stillness.  Even  Mr.  Mor- 
ton's stout  heart  quailed  at  the  mocking  outburst 
which  he  knew  proceeded  from  the  malice  of  a  des- 
perate woman.  Presently  a  voice  spoke,  icy  in  tone, 
with  a  deadly  hissing  sound : 

"Caught  like  rats  in  a  trap!  Shoot,  master,  fair 
and  straight!" 

Though  the  figure  of  the  woman  was  hidden  from 
them,  a  hand  was  seen  outstretched  and  a  long,  bony 
finger  pointed  straight  at  Mr.  Morton. 

"Don't  let  him  escape!"  the  voice  cried  again, 
"for  he's  canying  away  what  you  have  sought  for 
many  a  day.  Tell  him  to  drop  the  papers  and  you 
won't  shoot." 

Mr.  ton  only  felt  in  his  breast  coat-pocket 
to  be  sure  that  the  papers  were  safe.  Then  he 
crouched  down  close  to  the  ground,  motioning  the 


Mrs.  Milks  Plays  a  Comedy.  141 


hoys  to  do  likewise.  The  unearthly  laugh  rang  out 
again  with  the  words : 

"Oh,  you  must  wait  till  they  rise,  master,  or  can 
you  get  a  good  aim  there  near  the  ground?" 

One  of  the  boys,  Georgie  Wallace,  who  was  the 
smallest  of  them  all,  had  begun  to  wiggle  toward 
the  gate.  What  he  meant  to  do  when  he  got  there 
he  didn't  preci?=ely  know  ,  hut  when  he  reached  it 
he  found  hi.  ,ovc  I. ad  not  been  such  a  had  one. 
The  earth  had  been  w.ishcd  away  vhat  by  the 
rains  from  one  portion  of  the  g^ate  ami.  seeing  tins, 
the  hoy  began  to  dig  with  hoi  i  hands,  tlirowing 
up  showers  of  taitli  iike  a  little  mole.  He  tried 
once  to  squeeze  himself  through  the  aperture,  but 
it  was  not  large  enough,  so  he  went  to  work  again 
with  a  will.  lie  was  in  a  much  safer  position  than 
any  of  the  others,  being  farther  from  the  window 
and  less  likely  to  be  a  target  for  any  invisible  marks- 
man. And  as  he  worked,  he  reflected : 

"All  the  others  have  done  something  or  had  some 
share  in  the  business.  Only  I  have  done  nothing. 
So  if  I  could  get  the  gate  open  for  them,  it  would 
he  a  fine  thing." 

His  steady  work  was  rewarded,  and  in  a  very 
few  minutes  Georgi-  stoo<l  panting  and  breathless 
on  the  other  side  of  the  gate. 


142        Mhs.  Miles  Plays  a  Comedy. 

"Shoot  some  of  the  rascals — they  arc  trj'ing  to 
escape.  Shoot  at  once,  master,  or  it  will  be  too 
late,"  screamed  the  voice. 

And  just  then  there  was  a  diversion.  A  second 
voice  was  heard  within  the  room  and,  astounding 
sight!  an  old  man  was  wheeled  into  the  square  of 
light  by  a  second  old  man,  who  moved  like  an 
automaton. 

"What  is  going  on  here?"  cried  the  man  in  the 
chair.  "Why  is  the  house  lit  up?  What  comedy 
are  you  playing,  Mrs.  Miles?" 

"It  is  no  comedy,  but  more  like  a  tragedy,"  an- 
swered the  woman,  who  was  evidently  disconcerted 
by  this  sudden  appearance. 

"Tragedy!  Pshaw!  The  tempest  in  a  teapot  of 
a  nervous  woman !" 

"Tempest  in  a  teapot,  if  you  will,  but  a  man 
and  half  a  dozen  young  rascals  have  been  trying 
to — rob  the  hen-roost." 

The  lie  was  told  with  deliberation,  but  tiie  sneer- 
ing voice  of  the  master,  so  like  and  yet  so  unlike 
her  own.  caught  at  the  word. 

"The  hen-roost,  woman,  the  hen-roost!  Is  that 
a  reason  I  am  to  be  deprived  of  my  rest  and  Hornby 
liall  made  a  beacon  for  ail  the  prying  knaves  in 
the  country?" 


Mrs.  Miles  Plays  a  Comedy.  143 


The  woman  was  silent,  and  the  master  of  Hornby 
ordered  his  attendant : 

"Wheel  me  to  my  room,  Hcjjgkins,  and  you,  you 
jade,  put  out  these  lights  as  soon  as  I  have  reached 
there." 

"But  if  it  wasn't  the  hen-roost  alone?" 

"What,  then?" 

"Hornby  Hall  itself  might  be  fair  game  for  a 
gang  of  thieves." 

"Hornby  Hall!  They  haven't  entered  the  house?" 
"No,  but—" 

"But — no  buts!"  cried  the  despotic  old  man. 
"Some  thievish  country  louts  may  be  lurking  about 
in  search  of  a  fowl  or  two !  Wheel  me  away,  I  say, 
Hodgkins!" 

The  woman  made  no  further  attempt  to  stop 
him.  Perhaps  she  was  not  too  anxious  for  him  to 
inquire  further.  When  the  grating  sound  of  the 
invalid  chair  had  died  away  in  the  distance,  there 
was  an  interval  when  all  was  darkness;  then  the 
light  blazed  out  again,  and  the  bony  finger  pointed. 

But  the  noise  of  the  invalid's  chair  was  followed 
by  another— the  creaking  of  the  great  gate  upon 
its  hinges  as  Georgie  Wallace  pushed  it  open  from 
the  outside.  And  there  stood  the  opening,  framed 
in  its  frowning  iron.   Through  it,  with  a  half-sup- 


144        Mrs.  Miles  Plays  a  Comedy. 

pressed  shout  of  exultation,  the  boys  bounded,  fol- 
lowed by  Mr.  Morton. 

"Bravo,  my  brave  George,  bravo!"  cried  the 
leader,  and  all  the  boys  joined  in  a  chorus  of  ap- 
plause for  George's  plucky  deed. 

"She  might  have  kept  us  there  all  night,"  said 
Jack  to  Mr.  Morton.  That  gentleman  responded 
seriously : 

"God  knows  what  she  might  have  done.  She 
Avould  have  been  capable  of  doing  anything  to  get 
back  those  papers,  but  she  was  foiled  at  every  turn 
and  she  dared  not  tell  the  master." 

Then  they  hurried  homeward  through  the  deep- 
ening darkness  of  the  middle  night,  a  prayer  of 
thankfulness  on  their  leader's  lips  and  the  fragrance 
of  trees  and  gardens  meeting  them  once  more,  with 
a  twofold  force  and  sweetness  because  of  the  rank 
atmosphere  they  had  escaped. 

And  here  is  what  Mr.  Morton  saw  when  he 
locked  himself  in  his  study,  with  his  wife  leaning 
over  his  shoulder,  to  take  a  hurried  glance  at  the 
papers.  In  the  first  place,  the  last  will  and  testa- 
ment of  Philip  Pemberton,  which  he  put  aside  to 
read  on  the  morrow.  In  the  next,  a  faded  and  dis- 
colored sheet  of  paper,  on  which  had  been  hastily 
scribbled : 


Mrs.  Miles  Plays  a  Comedy.  145 

"This  paper  I  will  put  in  the  hiding-place  with 
my  dear  Philip's  will.  God  grant  it  be  found  some 
day,  to  explain  whatever  mystery  may  be  about  my 
fate.  For  here  I  have  been  shut  up  by  the  arch- 
fiend of  a  woman,  she  having  first  drugged  me,  be- 
cause I  had  come  to  the  knowledge  of  at  least  one 
awful  secret,  which  I  shudder  to  recall." 

Husband  and  wife  together,  with  pale  £aces,  pro- 
ceeded to  read  the  detailed  account  of  certain  events 
which  had  followed  upon  each  other.  They  inter- 
rupted their  reading  with  many  exclamations  of 
wonder,  of  amazement,  of  horror.  What  th^  read 
shall  be  explained  hereafter  in  this  simple  narra- 
tive, and  shall  throw  some  light  on  all  the  darkness 
which  had  enshrouded  Hornby  Hall. 

"This  must  be  laid  before  old  Pemberton,"  said 
Mr.  Morton,  "at  the  earliest  moment." 

His  wife  assented  dumbly.  She  could  not  speak 
at  first.  Her  agitation  was  too  great  Only  she 
gasped  out : 

"Thank  God,  Harry,  that  you  and  all  the  boys 
are  safe  out  of  that  dreadful  place." 

"And  thank  God,  too,  that  Mary  need  never  go 
back  to  it,"  said  Harry  Morton.  "But  I  will 
examine  all  these  papers  carefully  before  any  step 
is  taken." 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

PREPARATIONS  FOR  THE  GREAT  EVENT. 

IT  was  not  until  the  following  morning  that  Mr. 
Morton  could  give  his  wife  any  details  of  the 
expedition  which  had  ended  so  fortunately.  When 
all  had  been  related  to  her  she  could  not  help  shud- 
dering at  thought  of  some  of  the  events  of  that 
memorable  night.  She  told  him  in  turn  how  Mar- 
jorie  and  she  had  gone  to  the  oratory  to  pray,  light- 
ing the  candles  at  their  little  shrine,  and  that  when 
all  was  ready  Mar  jorie  had  brought  Mary  in,  amidst 
her  expressions  of  the  greatest  delight  and  wonder. 

"I  never  saw  any  beautiful  pictures  like  those," 
Mary  had  said,  pointing  to  the  pictures  of  Christ 
and  the  Mother  of  Sorrows.  "I  would  like  to  know 
who  they  are." 

"Marjorie  was  quite  scandalized  at  first,"  Mrs. 
Morton  said;  "she  could  not  understand  such 
ignorance.  Mary  exclaimed  that  no  one  ever  prayed 
at  Hornby  Hall.   I  can  see  that  religion  is  as 

146 


Preparations  for  the  Great  Event.  147 

carefully  shut  out  from  that  place  as  poetry  or 
sentiment  or  anything  that  makes  live  beautiful." 

"It  was  high  time  she  was  removed  from  that 
atmosphere,"  remarked  Mr.  Morton,  "and  I  certainly 
will  never  permit  her  to  cross  its  threshold  again, 
unless  perhaps,  if  many  things  are  cleared  up,  as 
a  guest.  But  now  we  must  get  to  work,  for  I  am 
determined  to  have  our  great  celebration  no  later 
than  Thursday  night.'* 

"Thursday  will  not  be  long  in  coming,"  suggested 
Mrs.  Morton,  doubtfully.  "Would  it  not  be  better 
to  postpone  it  a  few  days?" 

"No,  no!"  I  promised  Marjorie  and  the  boys," 
persisted  Mr.  Morton,  "and  it  can  be  done  by  rush- 
ing things  a  little.  By  the  way,  won't  Mary  need 
some  g'rls'  fixings  for  the  party?" 

"I  have  thought  of  that,"  declared  Mrs.  Morton ; 
"I  sent  some  measurements  to  Wanamaker  some 
days  ago,  with  all  details  as  to  how  I  wanted  a 
frock  made.  A  very  pretty  white  dress  arrived  half 
an  hour  ago.  With  some  vivid  scarlet  flowers  from 
the  garden  to  brighten  her  up,  Cinderella  will  be 
quite  transformed.  I  am  going  to  ask  her  to  try  it 
on  this  afternoon,  so  that  Julie  can  make  any 
necessary  alterations.  I  ordered  some  smaller  things 
as  well,  shoes,  and  ribbons,  and  gloves." 


148    Preparations  for  the  Great  Event. 

"Capital!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Morton,  rubbing  his 
hands  in  great  delight.  "I'm  as  big  a  boy  as  any 
of  the  Mayfair  crowd,  and  I  feel  as  if  I  couldn't 
wait  till  Thursday  to  see  the  girl  in  her  new  finery. 
By  George!  it's  like  living  in  a  fairy  tale  just 
now." 

He  hurried  off  to  the  garden,  where  his  personal 
supervision  was  urgently  required  in  the  great  prepa- 
rations that  were  being  made.  One  or  two  of 
the  tallest  trees  had  to  be  sacrificed,  and  a  platform 
for  the  musicians  had  to  be  erected  over  some 
flower  beds  so  carefully  as  not  to  damage  tliein. 
Another  and  larger  platform  was  also  erected 
whereon  games  might  be  played  and  the  dancing 
take  place,  which  was  to  consist  of  Virginia  reels 
and  old-fashioned  quadrilles  calculated  to  delight 
the  souls  of  these  Ironton  boys  and  girls.  For  they 
were,  in  fact,  boys  and  girls,  and  not  little  old  men 
and  women,  as  is  too  often  the  case.  Even  the  older 
boys  with  their  college  airs  had  wholesome  and 
simple  instincts  and  could  enjoy  any  form  of  fun. 

Mr.  Morton  devoted  himself  all  that  day  and  the 
next  to  the  decoration  of  the  garden.  In  this  he 
was  ably  assisted  by  the  Mayfair  boys.  Chinese 
lanterns  of  glowing  red  were  hung  upon  the  trees. 
Amongst  the  rose-bushes  and  flowering  shrubs  were 


Preparations  for  the  Great  Event.  149 

placed  smaller  lights,  which  would  give  a  delight- 
ful effect  when  the  great  day  arrived. 

Fancy  booths  decorated  in  the  daintiest  of  colors 
were  erected  for  the  serving  of  ices  and  fruits,  cakes 
and  confections  of  all  sorts,  bonbons  innumerable, 
and  such  iced  drinks  as  were  suitable  for  young 
and  old.  It  was  sorely  against  Marjorie's  will  that 
she  and  Mary  were  excluded  from  all  these  outdoor 
preparations,  for  Mr.  Morton  Avished  the  scene  in 
the  garden  to  be  as  complete  a  surprise  as  possible. 
With  this  object  in  view,  Mary  had  to  be  kept  in 
the  house  and  excluded  from  that  region  of  delight. 
She  and  Mar  jorie  were  very  honorable  about  it,  and 
when  they  passed  the  stair  window,  which  would 
have  given  them  an  excellent  view  of  all  that  was 
going  on,  they  resolutely  shut  their  eyes.  One 
thing,  however,  irritated  Marjorie  very  much,  and 
that  was  the  sound  of  Jack's  eager  voice  in  the 
garden  below. 

"Won't  he  give  himself  airs  after  this,"  she 
cried,  "with  his  patronizing  'we  did  this'  and  'we 
did  that'." 

Mrs.  Morton  set  the  girls  to  work  making 
mottoes  for  her,  giving  them  for  materials  colored 
paper  to  fashion  into  shape,  and  a  great  box  of 
small  candies  and  sheets  of  old-fashioned  verses  to 


ISO 


Preparations  for  the  Great  Event. 


I ' 


wrap  and  arrange.  This  they  found  a  delightful 
occupation  which  whiled  away  the  time  till  that 
other  event  to  which  Marjoric  was  looking  forward 
and  in  which  neither  Jack  nor  any  other  boy  could 
have  a  part.  That  was  the  trying  on  of  Mary's  new 
frock,  whose  very  existence  was  still  a  secret  to  its 
fortunate  owner.  So,  as  she  sat  and  snipped  at  the 
paper,  fingering  out  the  ends  of  the  mottoes  care- 
fully so  that  they  might  be  as  nearly  as  possible  like 
the  old-fashioned  ones  in  use  in  Mrs.  Morton's 
schoolgirl  days,  Marjorie  kept  a  watchful  eye  upon 
the  clock. 

In  a  flash  a  sudden  recollection  had  come  to 
Mary.  She  laid  down  her  scissors  and  let  the 
colored  paper  fall  from  her  hand. 

"What  is  it?"  a^ed  Marjorie,  lodcing  up  quiddy 
and  sympathetically. 

"Oh,  Marjorie!"  cried  poor  Mary,  "Thursday  is 
so  near.   Won't  it  be  dreadful !" 

"Mary,"  said  Marjorie  solemnly,  "I'm  sure  my 
father  doesn't  intend  to  let  you  go  back  till  the  next 
day,  anyhow." 

"Oh,  I  can't  stay  another  day — they  would  kill 
me,"  wailed  Mary,  "and  yet  I  feel  as  if  I  jould 
never  go  back." 

"Do  you  think  if  my  father  thought  of  letting 


Preparations  for  the  Great  Event.  151 

you  go  he  would  have  had  the  party  on  Thursday 

night?" 

Mary's  face  brightened  a  little,  but  she  was  not 
very  hopeful.  To  her,  Mrs.  Miles  and  the  dreadful 
grandfather  were  omnipotent.  They  could  not  be 
defied.  Just  then  Mrs.  Morton  came  in  to  get  the 
two  girls.  They  were  almost  finished  with  their 
task  of  motto-making,  so  she  sat  down  for  a  few 
minutes  and  helped  them  in  the  cutting  and  snipping 
to  hasten  matters. 

Then  they  all  went  up  to  Mary's  room,  where 
Julie,  the  French  maid,  with  a  genius  for  needle- 
work, was  in  waiting.  There  was^a  large  box  on 
the  bed. 

"You  may  wait  in  Miss  Marjorie's  room,  Julie, 
till  I  call!"  said  Mrs.  Morton,  and  when  the  door 
had  closed  on  the  woman's  somewhat  reluctant 
figure,  for  she  was  human  and  would  willingly  have 
assisted  at  the  little  scene  which  followed,  Mrs. 
Morton  said: 

"Mary,  you  know  there  is  to  be  a  party  to-mor- 
row night." 

"But  I  shall  be  back  at  Hornby,"  Mary  sighed, 
"Not  quite  so  soon,  my  dear,"  protested  the  good 
lady;  "that  will,  however,  be  e3q>lained  later." 
She  was  interrupted  by  a  voice  from  without : 


152    Preparations  for  the  Great  Event. 

"Hurry  up,  in  there!  and  get  the  child  into  her 
fixings.  I  want  to  come  in  and  have  a  share  of 
the  fun." 

Mrs.  Morten  smiled. 

"At  a  party,"  she  explained  to  Mary,  "every 
one  will  be  gaily  dressed.  Marjorie  is  going 
to  wear  pink  muslin." 

Mary's  face  turned  crimson. 

"I,  I,  am  afraid  I  can't  be  at  the  party.  I  should 
look  awful,  for  I,  I  haven't  any  dress  like  that." 

"Well,"  said  Mrs.  Morton,  "your  grandfather 
would  naturally  never  give  any  attention  to  such 
things,  but  a  woman  like  myself  who  has  a  daugh- 
ter knows  all  about  it.  So  I  chose  this  frock  for 
you,  my  dear.  The  best  I  could  do  in  a  short  time. 
Come  over  and  look  at  it." 

Mary  went  forward  mechanically  and  stood  be- 
side her  kind  friend.  The  box  was  opened  and  the 
gown  lifted  out.  Mary  btood  stupefied.  Even  Mar- 
jorie had  nothing  so  pretty.  Tliat  same  convulsive 
working  of  the  face  which  marked  her  deep  emotion, 
and  the  slow  dropping  of  the  tears,  were  Mary's 
answer,  as  she  turned  grateful  eyes  to  Mrs.  Morton. 

"Oh,  it  is  too  b^utiful  for  me  to  wear!"  she  said 
at  last.  "I  have  never  had  anything  like  it,  never 
anything  at  all  but  dull  gray  and  brown." 


Preparations  for  the  Great  Event.  153 

"Well,  this  is  your  very  own  and  you  are  going 
to  try  it  on  now,  at  once,  so  that  Julie  may  see  if  it 
needs  any  alteration,"  said  Mrs.  Morton. 

There  was  another  impatient  thump  on  the  door 
from  Mr.  Morton.  His  wife  hastened  to  help  Mary 
into  her  new  finery,  while  Marjorie  hopped  from 
one  foot  to  the  other  in  glee,  admirinj^  the  gown 
and  its  transforming  effect  upon  her  friend.  Then 
she  rushed  to  the  door  to  admit  her  father,  who 
laughed  in  his  whole-hearted  way  and  rubbed  his 
hands,  declaring  that  Mary  was  like  a  fairy  queen. 
After  that  there  was  more  diving  into  the  box, 
which  gave  forth  gloves,  fans,  bright-colored  rib- 
bons, and  other  pretty  knick^nacks,  that  fairly  be- 
wildered poor  Mary. 

"And,"  said  Mr.  Morton,  "I  may  as  well  tell  you 
that  you  are  not  going  back  to  Hornby  on  Thurs- 
day, no,  nor  on  any  other  day  that  I  know  of." 

"I  am  not  going  back  to  Hornby  1"  Mary 
repeated,  slowly. 

"Not  if  I  kn'-  >  't.  Not  even  if  you  wish  to  pj!" 
cried  Mr.  Morton,  laughing.  "You  are  my  prisone- 
now  and  I'll  keep  you  more  securely  than  your  last 
jailer  did.  So  just  make  up  your  mind.  Miss  iJary 
Pemberton,  to  senle  down  here  in  this  little  room 
beside  our  Marjorie." 


154    Preparations  for  .  ie  Great  Even  r. 

With  that,  Julie  came  in  for  some  final  touches 
to  the  co'  tunie  and  M-  .  M  irton  went  away  When 
Marjor:e  ,:m1  Mary  fin  tlly  wore  left  a  )  Marjort*' 
huggc    .N!  I'  •  deliglredly.     claiming  gleefullv : 

"Oh.  imV'  ^  splcTK'id  tha*  you  are  H  e  here 
alway-  sn.l  M  never  go  back  to  thai  iwful  Mrs. 
Miles  and  L  irnby!" 

Mary  ecu  >i  only  \.\u^  and  cry  ani!  repeat  over 
and  over  that  she  cc  In't  '.elieve  i*  tr  e,  that  she 
knew  she  wouid  \u  c  to  jo  ba  k,  a  d  that  her 
grandfather  and  Mrs.  Miles  would  be  terribly 
angry. 

When  Mr.  M(»tc»i  descended  to  the  garden  he 
was  greeted  hj  Jack  Hdland,  eager  and  full  of 
enthusiasm. 

"I  tell  you,  sir,  it's  going  to  be  a  regular  tip  top 
affair,"  he  cried,  "the  finest  that  has  ever  been  ir 
Ironton." 

"We've  got  up  about  u  >  hundre  '  1.  lu 
ready,"  annou  iced  Dick,  wli  face  w  -  . 
and  whose  han(".  were  soilr  with  earth  n  ,.i 
was  seen  In  the  distance  iigg-  :  L  ik-;  Mor- 
ris was  ui  a  tree  with  hi  mo ::tii  fuli  •^acks 
and  his  hands  of  twine  anc'  die  Wallace  boy:  e-e 
handing  him  up  lanteras. 

"Oh,  I  say,  Uncle  Harr    '  went  on  Dick  "it 


PRBPftRATf'^'    >  FOR  THE  GrEAT  EvENT.  15$ 

prime,  and  ing  ready  is  just  as  much  fun  as 
the  party." 

"More,  perhap  "  a=;serted  Mr.  Morton,  "anti- 
cipat  m  ttn  s  so  uuc;  1  v-ait  till  you  fellows 
-  e  I  '  girl  ;)-'■    hr  rej»cue,  all  fixed  up  in  hrr 

ne\   t  Tgery    And       'e  I     .nk  of  it,  I  want  i 

a,,  to    e  hen     '  f       k  si   rp  to-morrow, 

Tht  -su     at'  •  .1  yo    .vant  to  feel  a 

ail  h       -r    agreed  Jack,  though,  as  Mr. 
vlor         p       1  no  further,  he  was  rather  in  the 
da 'k  dS  t   ;     i  V  ason  for  the  invitation  and  the  htnt 
-'h.  ft  hone?   pride.    He  thought  the  glow  w=  ^ 
ne  in  be    -  about  8  P.  M.,  when  the  resu  ^ 
their  1-  be       ou' !  be  apparent  to  at  least  half 
popula        i  Ironton.   He  made  no  remark,  bv 
'  ent         o  work,  like  the  rest,  with  curiosity  un- 
sfieii 

vVhe    Mrs.  Morton  came  down  to  take  a  final 
"v  of  the  garden,  she  was  delighted.   Only,  she 
rem    '"f^  1  to  her  husband,  witi.  •.  little  doubtful  air: 
^ur,  it  almost  seems  as  if  Aiis  would  have 
becii      )re  appropriate  when  everything  is  cleared 
up  .itkI  the  battle  fought  and  won." 

"I  want  it  to  come  now !"  declared  Mr.  Morton. 
"I  want  to  blow  a  whole  blast  of  victory  before  the 


156    Preparations  for  the  Great  Event. 

fight  begins.  I  guess  the  news  of  Thursday  night's 
doings  will  penetrate  even  into  Hornby  Hall." 

So  Mrs.  Morton  said  no  more,  but  continued  her 
preparations  within  doors.  For  she  had  a  couple  of 
pastry-cooks  up  from  Philadelphia  who  were 
making  many  delicacies  in  the  house,  though  many 
things  were  coming  up  by  train  on  the  day  of  the 
festivity.  For  the  Mortons  were  not  people  to  do 
things  by  halves;  and  though  it  was  first  of  all  a 
children's  party,  all  the  old,  gray-headed  children 
who  had  kept  enough  youth  about  them  for  such 
frolics  had  been  bidden  to  the  feast  by  the  swift 
feet  of  the  Mayfair  boys,  who  acted  as  mercuries. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


A  DELIGHTFUL  FESTIVITY. 


ON  Thursday  afternoon  by  four  o'dodc  every- 
thing was  in  readiness  for  the  w<mderful 
festivity  <  f  tiie  evening.  But  an  event  was  yet  to 
happen  which  while  it  lasted  dulled  the  keen  edge 
of  anticipation.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Morton  waited  at 
the  head  of  the  steps,  surrounded  by  all  the  boys 
and  girls,  forming  a  circle  around  Mary.  The  little 
girl  was  pale  and  faint,  and  despite  her  kind  pro- 
tectors seemed  oppressed  with  fear.  She  knew  and 
they  did  not  the  powers  against  which  they  were 
contending.  All  the  vague  terrors  and  mysteries 
which,  more  even  than  positive  ill-treatment, 
weighed  upon  her  at  Hornby  Hall  seemed  to  con- 
centrate about  her  in  those  momoits  of  suspense. 
The  unfortunate  child  felt  that  Fate,  which  was 
represented  to  her  by  Mt^.  Miles,  must  be  against 
any  efforts  for  her  rescue. 

«S7 


{ 


158  A  Deughtful  Festivity. 

There  was  silence  in  the  group.  No  one  could 
speak  till  that  critical  moment  had  come  and  gone. 
It  was  on  the  stroke  of  four.  T*  e  hush,  which  had 
seemed  to  deepen,  was  broken  by  the  noise  of  wheels 
upon  the  road.  The  same  premonitory  cloud  of 
dust  arose  as  before  from  the  highway  and  the 
lumbering  van-like  carriage  of  Hornby  Hall  rolled 
on  steadily  toward  the  Mortons'  gate. 

Involuntarily  the  boys  and  girls  closed  in  around 
Mary,  as  though  forming  a  bodyguard  for  her  de- 
fense. The  carriage  entered  at  the  gate  and  drove 
slowly  around  the  drive,  stopping  at  the  foot  of  the 
steps.  The  white-haired  coachman  touched  his 
hat  and  in  the  manner  of  an  automaton  addressed 
Mr.  Morton. 

"For  the  young  lady,  sir,"  was  all  he  said,  after 
which  he  sat  staring  motionless  before  him,  as 
though  he  saw  some  strange  object  which  riveted 
his  attention. 

"You  can  return  to  Hornby  as  you  camel"  said 
Mr.  Morton.    The  man  stared. 

"Mr.  Pemberton  bade  me  say  he  is  waiting  with 
his  watch  in  his  hand  for  the  young  lady,"  he 
mumbled  in  a  listless  tone. 

"I  am  afraid  his  hand  will  get  very  tired  if  he 
does  that,"  commented  Mr.  Morton;  "so  you  had 


A  Delightful  Feshvity. 


159 


better  make  haste  back  to  tell  him  that  the  young 
lady  is  not  returning  to  Hornby  at  four  o'dodc  to- 
day, nor  on  any  other  day  or  at  any  hour  that  I 
know  of." 

Here  was  defiance.  Mary  gazed  at  the  carriage 
with  distended,  frightened  ey*s.  The  boys  held  their 

breath.  In  fact,  they  seemed  to  have  been  doing  so 
ever  since  Mr.  Morton  told  them  what  he  wanted 
of  them  at  the  particular  hour  of  four.  The  coach- 
man touched  his  hat  again,  but  instead  of  turning 
away,  began  to  drive  slowly  up  and  down  before 
the  door,  as  if  waiting  for  some  one  who  must  surely 
come  out  of  the  house  and  get  into  the  carriage. 
Mary  felt  in  this  the  relentless  purpose  which 
seemed  to  pursue  her  and  which  would  ultimately 
triumph,  /  t  length  Mr.  Morton  spoke  to  the 
automaton  on  the  box  of  the  coach : 

"You  had  better  go  back  and  relieve  Mr.  Pem- 
berton's  anxiety." 

"I  daren't,  sir,  without  the  young  lady." 

*T  think  the  old  gentleman's  anger  will  not  grow 
less  if  you  keep  him  waiting  after  the  hour." 

This  argument  seemed  to  have  some  weight  with 
'     man.   He  gave  a  curious,  questioning  loc4c  at 

.ry,  where  she  stood  amongst  the  girls  and  boys. 

"You  had  better  come,  Miss,"  he  declared. 


i6o         A  Deughtful  Festxvity. 

quietly.  "Your  grandfather  and  Mrs.  Miles  arc 
waiting  for  you." 

Mary  trembled  all  over,  and  so  strong  was  the 
force  of  habit  that  if  left  to  herself  she  would  as- 
suredly have  got  into  that  dreary  van,  and  have 
been  driving  away  staring  straight  before  her  in  an 
intensity  of  mental  anguish.  Nor  would  this  latter 
feeling  have  been  lessened  by  the  thought  that  her 
grandfather's  watch  would  have  shown  her  to  be 
several  minutes  late. 

"You,  you,  had  better  go!"  cried  Mr.  Morton, 
more  sternly  than  before.  "Mr.  Pemberton  and 
Mrs.  Miles  may  want  you." 

The  automaton  reflected  a  moment  more,  then 
he  touched  his  hat  and  drove  away,  slowly  until  he 
was  nearly  out  of  sight  of  the  house.  Further  on 
he  was  seen  to  urge  his  horses  to  their  fullest  speed. 
After  that  the  boys  and  girls  sat  for  some  time 
quite  still,  vaguely  sharing  Mary's  terror.  The 
sights  and  sounds  which  the  boys,  at  least,  re- 
membered since  their  nocturnal  visit  to  the  Hall 
did  not  tend  to  reassure  them. 

Something  of  the  chill  of  Hornby  Hall  had  crept 
into  the  atmosphere,  and  the  face  of  Mrs.  Miles, 
as  they  recalled  it,  sent  a  coldness  even  to  the  bravest 
hearts.   It  seoncd,  too,  as  if  that  dreadful  poten- 


A  Delightful  Festivity.  i6i 


tate,  who  had  ruled  at  the  dreary  dwelling  so  long, 
must  despatch  some  messenger  of  evil  to  avenge 
his  discomfiture,  and  as  if  the  iron  will,  which  had 
ordered  events  so  long,  must  in  the  end  prevail. 
Mr.  Morton  himself  was  paler  and  graver  than 
usually  he  was  and  ^'^s.  Morton  was  visibly  fright- 
ened, but  the  former  laid  a  reassuring  hand  on 
Mary's  shoulder. 

"You  see  the  old  shandrydan  didn't  swallow  you 
up  after  all.  You  don't  belong  to  sotic  enchanted 
palace  in  the  olden  time,  but  to  the  land  of  the  free. 
Vou  may  be  certain,  my  dear,  that  from  this  day 
forth  you  will  be  as  free  as  it  is  well  for  a  good. 
Catholic  girl  to  be." 

Mrs.  Morton  put  an  arm  round  Mary  and 
wiMspered : 

"You  poor  dear!  you  poor  dear  I"  Marjorie  and 
Dollie  were  very  near  crying. 

"And  now,  boys,  for  the  glow  of  honest  pride!" 
cried  Mr.  Morton.  "Don't  you  fed  it  in  your 
sturdy,  American  hearts?  You  have  helped  me  to 
make  this  thing  possible  and  to  show  cause  for  my 
act.  You  have  saved  Mary  frmn  Hornby  Hall. 
W'liile  you  know  a  little  of  the  matter  yourselves  and 
have  helped  so  well  in  what  has  been  accompUshed, 
I  cannot  as  yet  give  you  all  d^ils.  So  three  dwers 


i62  A  Delightful  Festtvity. 


for  Mary  Pemberton,  and  away  with  you  all,  to 
make  ready  for  to-night." 

The  three  cheers  were  lustily  given.  They  may 
have  reached  the  driver  of  the  dismal  van  if  he  was 
not  too  far  off,  and  they  certainly  rang  through 
Ironton  with  a  sound  to  make  men  and  women 
raise  their  heads  and  ask :  "What's  going  on  up  to 
Mortons'  ?" 

There  were  great  things  going  on,  in  truth,  and 
after  that  first  shiver  of  natural  fear,  the  boys  were 
exultant,  proud  of  what  they  had  done,  and  of  the 
very  secret,  which  though  it  was  c.  the  tip  of  their 
tongue  th^  had  to  keep  for  the  present.  Their 
mothers  and  fathers  could  not  Imagine  what  it  all 
meant  and  what  was  the  matter  amongst  the  boys. 
Dicky  Dalton,  when  he  had  completed  his  toilet  for 
the  party  and  stood  before  his  mother  to  display  his 
finery,  suddenly  exclaimed: 

"Mr.  Morton's  a  brick,  I  tell  you.  Just  wait  till 
you  see  Mary!" 

"Is  she  a  brick,  too?"  inquired  the  mother. 

Dicky  reflected.  He  was  a  very  loyal-hearted 
boy  and  he  felt  very  sorry  for  Mary,  but  he  was 
not  quite  sure  that  so  strong  an  adjective  c»uld  be 
applied  to  her.  It  would  be  far  more  suitable,  he 
thought,  for  Marjorie.    He  <»uld  hardly  explain 


A  Delightful  Festivitv.  163 

the  difference  to  himself.  Yet  he  liked  Mary  and 
felt  sure  he  would  like  her  even  better  when  she 
had  been  longer  a  member  of  the  Mayfair  circle. 

"Mary  isn't  exactly  a  brick,"  he  replied  to  bis 
mother's  question. 

"What,  then?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,  mother  dear.  Wait  till  you 
see  her  and  hear  all  about  her." 

This  was  pretty  much  the  burden  of  all  the  boys* 
talk,  though  Jack  was  more  patrmiizing  and  der- 
matic in  his  expression  of  opinion:  "Mary  isn't  a 
half-bad  sort  of  girl,  c(msidering  the  rum  life  she 
has  led,  and  she  has  a  good  deal  of  style  and  lodes 
like  a  lady." 

W^ith  all  of  them,  including  those  college  youths 
of  pretensions,  eight  o'clock  upon  that  memorable 
evening  seemed  a  very  long  way  off.  At  last  it 
rring  out  from  the  belfry  of  the  Presbyterian 
Church,  its  strokes  falling  impressively  on  the  air, 
as  though  they  were  saying: 

"Now  it  is  time!  Now  it  is  time!" 

Dick  Dalton  had  an  uncomfortable  feeling  that 
they  said  more  than  that. 

"Hornby  Hall!  Hornby  Hall!  Hornby  Halir* 
sounded  in  his  ears  at  every  peal.  He  moitioned 
this  fancy  of  his  to  Jack  and  certain  others  of  the 


i64  A  Delightful  Festivity. 

boys,  but  they  promptly  silenwd  him,  for  it  gave 
them  an  uncomfortable,  creepy  feeling.  And  that 
when  they  all  were  setting  out  in  their  best  clothes 
along  a  very  dark  road  to  that  wonderful  festival 
of  the  Mortons.  Dick  was  glad  when  the  bell 
stopped  ringing,  though  by  that  time  he  and  his 
companions  were  drawing  near  to  the  Mortons* 
gate.  The  older  people  were  invited  for  an  hour 
later,  as  the  host  and  hostess  had  decided  that  the 
young  folks  should  have  things  all  their  own  way 
for  a  while.  When  the  boys  entered  that  dazzling 
garden,  they  looked  about  them  dazed,  though  they 
themselves  had  helped  to  produce  the  effect  DMcy 
cat^ht  Jack  by  the  sleeve. 

"Look  there!"  he  cried  excitedly,  "lode  there!" 

And  both  turned  their  eyes  to  where  Mary  stood 
in  one  of  the  fairy-like  marquees,  receiving  with 
Mrs.  Morton  and  Marjorie. 


CHAPTER  XV. 


If  ARY  IS  A  CENTER  OF  ATTRACTION. 

FOLLOWING  Dick's  example.  Jack  stood  quite  still 
and  looked  at  Mary.  In  all  the  wonderful 
scene  before  them  there  was  nothing  so  wonderftd 
as  the  transformation  of  that  girl.  Her  slender, 
upright  figure  was  fitted  to  perfection  by  the  pretty, 
yet  not  too  daborate  gown.  Her  chedcs  glowed 
like  the  scarlet  geraniums  at  her  neck  and  in  her 
belt,  her  dark  eyes  shone  with  happiness  and  the 
excitement  of  the  occasion.  For  she  was  happy. 
She  seemed  to  have  cast  oflf  every  fear  and  to  enter 
into  the  enjoyment  around  her  with  a  zest  and 
relish  which  no  other  girl  or  boy  amongst  all  those 
who  filled  the  garden  could  imagine.  For  the  others 
had  experienced  something  of  the  sort  before,  had 
been  in  gaily  dressed  crowds  and  had  seen  young 
people  of  their  own  age  enjoying  themselves  to 
the  full 


i66     Mary  is  a  Center  of  Attraction. 

"Dick!"  whispered  Jack,  "she  looks  like  some  of 
those  girls  in  the  Arabian  nights,  or  those  sort  of 
things." 

"Yes,"  said  Dick,  "she's  like  those  enchanted 
princesses  we  used  to  read  about  when  we  were 
kids.   I  hardly  dare  speak  to  her." 

"But  we  must,  you  know,"  declared  Jack,  with 
that  self-confident  manner  which  he  used  at  col- 
lege when  acting  as  usher  on  festive  occasions.  Didc 
followed  him  silently,  and  as  they  neared  where 
Mary  stood  Jack  plucked  a  flower. 

"Mary,"  he  said,  **htre  is  a  very  nice,  sweet- 
smelling  rose.  I  hope  you  will  wear  it  at  your 
belt." 

"Thank  you!"  said  Mary,  simply.  "It  is  very 
kind  of  you,"  while  Jack  looked  round  to  note  how 
many  persons  saw  and  approved  his  act  of  gal- 
lantry. 

Mr.  Morton  was  in  the  thick  of  the  fun  now, 
calling  upon  all  the  boys  and  girls  to  join  in  a  great 
Virginia  Reel  and  making  Mary  dance  with  him 
because  she  didn't  know  a  step.  Or  again,  he  led 
a  jovial  Blind  Man's  Buff,  or  started  Musical 
Chairs  and  Hunt  the  Slipper. 

Mary,  it  must  be  owned,  had  been  completdy 
dazed  on  coming  into  the  garden.   She  had  stood 


Mary  is  a  Center  of  Attractioit.  167 


very  white  and  still,  her  hands  clasped,  looking  as 
if  she  could  never  look  enough.  The  countless 
lights  flashed  upon  her  with  a  marvelous  brilliancy, 
softened  yet  not  obscured  by  the  foliage;  the  lan- 
terns in  the  trees  seemed  like  great  gldbes  of  fire 
and  those  hting  on  the  buslws  threw  into  relief  the 
rich  coloring  or  the  delicate  whiteness  of  the 
flowers.  It  was  a  gorgeous  effect  of  light  and  color 
and  warmth,  all  of  which  elements  had  been  want- 
ing in  Mary's  narrow  life,  while  the  ridi  perfume 
of  many  flowers  and  blossoming  trees,  blended  with 
the  exquisite  strains  of  the  ordwstn,  rendered  it 
all  the  more  dream-like. 

After  a  time,  as  the  boys  and  girls  whom  she 
knew  came  in,  she  was  conscious  of  a  pleasant  sense 
of  companionship,  fcciing  that  they  all  were  her 
friends,  while  they,  in  turn,  vied  with  one  another 
in  the  warmth  of  their  greetings,  just  as  if  they 
had  known  her  all  tlieir  life.  Mary  entered  very 
quickly  and  fully  into  the  spirit  of  the  games  and 
delighted  in  the  intricacies  of  the  various  dances, 
which  she  fdlowed  lightly  and  gracefully*  laughing 
hmrtily  when  she  made  a  mistake.  She  seemed  to 
have  entirely  shaken  off,  for  the  first  time  in  her 
life,  the  malign  shadow  of  Mrs.  Miles,  behind  which 
sat  her  grandfather,  and  she  felt  as  if  in  reality 


1 68    Maky  is  a  Centsk  of  ATTHAcnow. 

a  new  life  had  begun  for  her  and  the  old  one  had 
been  left  behind  forever. 

She  went  about  with  her  friends  to  the  various 
tents,  tasting  the  delicious  lemonade  and  sweet 
things.  The  ices  she  thought  were  too  beautiful 
almost  to  touch,  varying  in  design  from  a  bird  of 
paradise,  with  its  tail  of  flaming  gold,  to  a  basket 
of  pink  roses  on  a  high-turreted  castle.  She  parti- 
cularly enjoyed  playing  hostess  with  Marjorie  to 
the  groups  of  smaller  children,  pressing  upon  them 
the  various  dainties,  which  many  of  this  smaller 
contingent  eyed  with  wistful  wonder.  Mr.  Morton 
had  invited  the  children  of  all  d^eei,  without 
distinction  as  to  classes. 

Also  when  the  "grown-ups"  arrived  it  was  seen 
that  notes  of  invitation  had  been  sent  not  only  to 
the  Pomeroys  and  the  Gerards  and  the  Carpenters 
and  a  score  or  so  of  other  families  who  represented 
the  gentility  of  the  place,  but  also  to  John  Worth, 
and  Jeremiah  O'Meara,  and  various  other  local 
worthies.  It  was  a  sort  of  patriarchal  festival,  the 
first  of  its  kind  ever  given  by  the  Mortons,  who 
were  exclusive  and  conservative  to  a  marked 
d^ee.  Every  one  felt  very  much  at  home,  for 
they  all  knew  one  another  after  a  fashion.  The 
wealthier  folks  showed  the  a>rdial  courtesy  of  their 


Maky  is  a  Ce-nter  of  Attraction.  169 

good  breeding  to  their  humbler  neighbors,  whc- 
returned  it  in  kind,  with  a  pleasant  geniality  and 
a  hearty,  if  somewhat  rough  good  will.  Most  of 
the  latter,  inde*-..,  departed  somewhat  early  in  the 
evening,  so  that  <he  intimates  were  left  behind  to 
wind  up  the  affair  in  a  great  frolic. 

When  all  were  assembled,  however,  and  before 
any  one  had  left,  Mr.  Morton  presented  Mary  as 
the  guest  of  honor  and  announced  that  she,  being 
his  ward,  was  hereafter  to  remain  under  his  guard- 
ianship. This  caused  a  great  sensation  amongst 
the  older  folks,  and  brought  joy  to  the  hearts  of 
the  Mayfair  boys  and  g^rls.  Mr.  Morton  had  to 
,.ieet  a  shower  of  question  from  his  friends  as  to 
the  new  state  of  affairs,  w  .0  how  he  had  ever 
persuaded  old  Pembertoii  to  give  up  his  gran*' 
daughter.  Little  groups  likewise  discussed  in  ri; 
bred  whispers  the  past  relations  between  ..ic 
Pembertons  and  Mortons,  the  break  that  h?.i  cume. 
which  had  been  t,cnerally  sitiij  >sed  would  je  pc  - 
manent. 

Mary's  looks  and  bearing  were  much  comnwnted 
,  upon,  some  seeing  a  resemblance  in  the  girl  to  her 
I  mother  and  others  vowing  she  was  a  Pemberton. 
Mary  shook  hands  with  every  one  presoit,  showing 
a  grave  friendliness  and  interest  in  all.  Singular 


170     Mary  is  a  Center  of  Attraction. 


as  it  may  seem,  she  was  by  no  means  shy.  She 
returned  the  cordial  pressure  of  old  Jeremiah 
O'Meara's  hand  as  warmly  as  she  did  the  greeting 
of  the  dignified  gentleman  with  gold-rimmed  spec- 
tacles and  imposing  air  who  offered  a  friendly,  if 
somewhat  pompous  recognition  to  the  daughter  of 
a  once  prominent  house.  In  fact,  Mary  rather  pre- 
ferred Jeremiah  of  the  two,  because  the  other  in 
some  remote  way  reminded  her  of  her  grandfather, 
whom  he  spoke  of  familiarly  as  Tom.  Mary,  trans- 
fixed by  the  gold  spectacles,  wondered  vaguely  if 
the  speaker  knew  Mrs.  Miles  as  well. 

"Tom  Pemberton.  your  grandfather,  my  dear," 
began  the  old  gentleman,  pausing  to  clear  his  throat, 
while  Mary,  gazing  fixedly  at  the  spectacles,  thought 
there  was  something  strange  in  calling  her  grand- 
father Tom,  and  intimating  that  he  had  ever  been 
a  boy  or  had  other  than  white  hair. 

"Tom  Pemberton  was  a  gay  lad,"  the  old  gentle' 
man  went  on,  chuckling  to  himself,  "eh,  you  remem- 
ber, O'Meara?" 

■  "I  do  that,  sir,"  rq>lied  Jeremiah ;  "  a  fine  young 
gentleman  he  was  when  first  I  came  to  the 

place." 

"Just  so,"  the  old  gentleman  agreed,  "and  a  wild 
blade,  up  to  his  ears  in  every  kind  of  mischief." 


Mary  is  a  Center  of  Attraction.  171 

Mary  could  scarcely  believe  her  ears.  It  was 
monstrous.   The  old  gentleman  must  be  dreaming. 

"A  wild  blade!"  she  repeated  mechanically  to 
herself.  She  did  not  know  what  the  word  meant 
thus  applied,  but  she  concluded  it  was  something 
which  did  not  fit  her  grandfather.  She  knew  what 
mischief  meant.  Mrs.  Miles  had  often  given  that 
name  to  smne  of  her  own  most  innocent  acts  and 
had  accused  her  of  being  up  to  mischief.  But  that 
her  grandfather  should  be  similarly  accused  seemed 
incredible. 

"Oh,  I  could  make  you  laugh,"  continued  the  old 
gentleman,  "at  some  of  his  pranks  at  college.  For 
we  were  in  the  same  year  and  I  sat  close  beside  him. 
I  remember  him,  for  example,  riding  round  the 
room  upon  a  make-believe  hobby-horse  and  upset- 
ting the  Professor  who  chanced  to  be  coming  in 
the  door." 

This  was  too  dreadful.  It  seemed  like  profan- 
ation and  as  if  she  would  be  punished  for  hearing 
such  things  said.  She  continued  to  look  solemnly 
at  the  old  gentleman,  who  laughed  immoderately, 
supported  by  Jeremiah,  at  the  picture  he  had  con- 
jured up.  Suddenly,  Mary's  face  rdaswd  and  she, 
too,  joined  in  the  laugh.  For  the  sense  of  humor 
inherited  iram  her  mother  made  her  suddenly  aware 


172    Mary  is  a  Center  of  Attraction. 

that  it  was  intensely  funny  so  to  imagine  her  gfrand- 
father.  She  laughed  and  la  ighed  till  the  tears  ran 
down  her  cheeks,  and  people  began  to  stare  at  the 
spectacle  of  the  two  old  men  and  the  grave  child 
laughing  together  uncontrollably.  The  more  she 
laughed  the  more  they  laughed,  too,  and  others 
joined,  without  understanding  the  jest,  but  from 
the  simple  contagion  of  merriment,  till  there  was 
quite  a  laughing  chorus. 

In  the  main,  Mary  liked  all  the  guests,  just  be- 
cause they  were  real  persons,  persons  who  had  been 
so  long  a  mystery  to  her,  represented  to  her  as  they 
were  only  by  Mrs.  Miles,  her  grandfather,  and 
the  servants,  who  seldom  spcdce.  Probably,  hov-- 
ever,  the  best  part  of  the  evening  was  when  all  were 
gone  except  the  Mayfair  boys  and  girls,  who  stayed 
a  while  after  the  others  and  talked  things  over. 
Meeting  every  day  in  that  pleasant  place,  amongst 
the  trees  and  in  the  long  grr^ss.  hey  had  all  their 
amusements  in  common.  Somehow,  tlioy  seemed 
to  fit  in  together;  they  wrre  sworn  comrat'e^  all 
and  their  chaff hil,'^  of  each  other  was  nearly  aKvav> 
good-natured;  and  they  had  ihe  same  jcsfs  and,  to 
a  great  extent,  the  same  way  of  looking  at  things. 
Mary  felt  they  all  were  her  brothers  and  sisters, 
ready  to  stand  by  her  till  the  end. 


Maky  is  a  Center  of  AxTRAcnoN.  173 

Even  Marie  Lewis  forgot  her  young  lady  airs 
with  Mary  and  was  as  simple  and  natural  a'tnost  as 
Marjorie,  and  Florence  was  fast  developing  into 
the  sort  of  girl  like  Dollie  Martin,  whom  every  one 
liked.  Kitty  Hogan  was  the  newcomer's  devoted 
champion  and  would  not  hear  a  word  said  deroga- 
tory to  her  looks  or  her  manners  or  her  speech.  So 
they  all  sat  and  talked  in  that  lovely  garden, 
which  was  now  a  "banquet-hall  deserted."  Every 
detail  of  the  evening's  festivity  was  discussed  and 
they  sang  a  few  jolly  choruses,  winding  up  with  that 
old  and  familiar  ditty,  applied  now  to  Mr.  Morton: 

"He's  a  joll}  good  felknr. 
Which  nobodjr  can  deny." 

Many  of  the  revelers  who  had  not  yet  reached 
liome  raught  the  well-known  strain  and  joined  in 
it,  to  the  confusion  of  the  quiet  village  of  Ironton 
and  the  few  stay-at-homes  who  for  one  reason  or 
another  had  not  heen  present.  It  also  set  many  a  dog 
barking.as  ev*-  in  their  -  anine  way  they, too, desired 
to  join  in  the  chorus.  Even  tlie  staid  old  Mt. 
St.  Bernard  caim  out  of  his  hamtl  and  solemnly 
bayi^  at  the  foolish  onet  wtK>  did  not  know  at 
what  ttui^  were  harking.  Hut  scat  U»'^rnt  'w^ 
B  pLfOKf§m  of  laufffoter,  ate  which  4ie  htmed 


174     Mary  is  a  Center  of  Attraction. 

Mary  and  said  she  was  "a  dear"  and  that  "it  was 
lovely  to  think  she  would  always  be  with  them." 

The  lanterns  were  extinguished  at  last,  the 
orchestra  had  ceased,  darkness  and  silence  fell  over 
that  scene  of  abounding  glow  and  glory  and  over 
the  tranquil  village.  Upon  the  serene  mountain 
heights  and  river  the  stars  looked  calmly  down, 
twinkling  in  the  blue  depths  of  the  sky. 

The  echo  of  that  festivity  and  of  Mr.  Morton's 
announcement  had  already  reached  even  the 
seclusion  of  Hornby.  A  rare  occurrence  indeed, 
one  of  the  Hall  servants  was  sent  into  the  village, 
ostensibly  to  buy  some  utensil,  in  reality  to  pick  up 
news.  And  as  he  had  hung  about  till  a  rather  late 
hour,  lie  heard  the  g.eat  news  from  some  of  those 
homeward  bound.  Mrs.  Miles  had  kept  the  intelli- 
gence to  herself,  but  a  lamp  burned  late  in 
her  room  that  night,  and  her  ghastly  face  might 
have  been  seen  staring  out  vengefully  in  the  direc- 
tion of  Henry  Morton's  house.  For  she,  too,  had 
heard  in  the  evening's  festivity  the  first  bugle  call 
of  battle  and  the  clarion  note  of  tiie  enem/s  ulti- 
mate victory. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

MRS.  MILES  GROWS  DESPERATE. 

NEXT  afternoon  most  of  the  boys  and  girls  as- 
sembled in  Mayfair  to  talk  over  the  previous 
night's  fun.  The  boys  lounged  about  in  various 
attitudes  upon  the  grass.  Marjorie  was  in  her 
favorite  perch  on  the  branch  of  a  tree.  Mary  sat 
sedately  on  the  bench  with  Marie  Lewis  on  one 
side  of  her  and  Dollie  Martin  on  the  other.  Marie 
was  teaching  Mary  Pemberton  to  crochet  in  bright- 
colored  wools,  which  was  a  new  and  fascinating 
employment  which  she  learned  with  wonderful 
facility. 

"They  teach  us  such  a  lot  of  things  at  the  con- 
vent," observed  Marie,  in  her  slightly  affected  voice. 

"The  convent,  what's  that?"  inquired  Mary. 

Marie  looked  at  her  in  surprise.  None  of  the 
girls  or  boys  could  get  quite  accustomed  to  her 
phenomenal  ignorance. 

>75 


176       Mks.  Miles  Grows  Desperate. 


"Oh,  it's  where  we  go  to  school,"  explained  Ma- 
rie, "where  nuns  teach,  don't  you  know?" 

Mary  looked  more  puzzled  than  ever. 

"Is  a  nun  a  woman?"  she  asked. 

There  was  a  choking  sound  from  the  grass  and 
Dick  Dalton  turned  away  a  very  red  face,  while 
Ned  Wallace  clapped  his  hand  over  his  mouth  and 
Luke  Morris  snidcered  audibly.  The  tree-top  shook 
vigorously  just  then,  which  fact  suggested  the  idea 
that  the  boys'  mirth  might  have  got  up  there  and 
infected  Marjorie.  But  Marie  Lewis  managed  to 
preserve  her  gravity.  She  was  a  very  well-bred 
girl.    Dollie  Martin  only  smiled. 

"Oh,  yes,  nuns  are  women,"  Marie  explained, 
quite  seriously.  "But  you  must  come  and  see  them 
sometime." 

"Perhaps  you'll  be  going  with  me  to  school  at 
the  convent  in  September,"  suggested  Marjorie 
from  above. 

Mary  flushed  with  pleasure.  She  was  eager  to 
learn,  for  Mrs.  Miles'  teaching  had  been  rather 
elementary  and  the  girl  keenly  felt  how  much  less 
she  knew  than  any  of  these  boys  and  girls  of  her 
own  age. 

"Won't  that  be  lovely!"  chimed  in  the  other  girls. 
"We  shall  all  be  there  together." 


Mrs.  Miles  Grows  Desperate.  177 

For  the  next  few  minutes  the  convent  fornwd 
a  deeply  interesting  topic.  That  mysteriotis  r^on 
elicited  many  inquiries  from  Mary  and  very  soon 
she  knew  the  names  of  the  different  teachers  and 
of  a  number  of  the  pupils.  Marjorie  descended 
from  the  tree  in  the  interests  of  the  theme  and 
talked  away  hard  and  fast,  joining  in  all  that  gos- 
sip of  school  life  which  is  so  fascinating  to  convent- 
bred  girls.  The  trivial  incidents,  the  harmless  jokes, 
the  current  events  were  all  minutely  chronicled.  The 
day  was  recalled  when  Marjorie  had  been  admitted 
to  the  Sodality  of  the  Blessed  Virgin,  while  Marie 
Lewis  was  made  Vice-President  and  Florence  Lewis 
would  not  be  let  in  at  all  for  six  months,  because 
she  persistently  talked  in  the  halls  and  classrooms. 

The  boys  soon  wearied  of  a  conversation  from 
which  they  found  themselves  excluded  and  tried  a 
little  desultory  talk  amongst  themselves  on  the  more 
congenial  topics  of  football  and  baseball,  but  they 
showed  signs  of  boredom.  Dicky  Dalton  got  up 
and  strolled  down  the  road,  saying  he  would  prob- 
ably look  in  again  later.  The  girls  paid  no  heed 
to  his  going,  so  engrossed  were  they  in  convent 
recollections,  and  the  birds  in  the  tree-tops  did  not 
chatter  more  briskly  than  did  they.  Suddenly  there 
was  an  interruption.    The  sound  of  wheels  was 


178       Mrs.  Miles  Grows  Desperate. 

heard  and  all  craned  their  necks  to  see  what  heavy 
vehicle  might  be  approaching.  It  was  obscured,  at 
first,  by  a  cloud  of  dust,  then  Marjorie  and  Jack, 
the  keen-eyed,  uttered  a  simultaneous  exclamation. 

"Oh,  Mary!"  cried  Marjorie,  drawing  near  and 
putting  an  arm  protectingly  about  her. 

"I  say,"  shouted  Jack,  forgetting  manners  i'l 
his  excitement,  "it's  the  carriage  from  Hornby!  I 
see  the  old  driver's  white  head !" 

There  was  a  moment  of  blank  consternatioi  in 
the  group.  No  one  had  anticipated  sach  a  thing. 
Even  Mr,  Morton  had  taken  it  for  granted  that 
the  affair  was  settled  or,  at  least,  that  he  should 
hear  frcrni  Mr.  Pemberton  through  his  lawyers. 
Therefore  no  such  event  had  be«i  expected  and  no 
preparation  made  for  the  emergency. 

Mary  turned  as  pale  as  death,  Imt  stood  quite 
still,  saying  nothing. 

"Father  is  gone  to  town !"  exclaimed  Marjorie 
in  a  li ii.>-h<xl  tone  of  dismay.  Mr.  "  irton  had,  in- 
deed. gOTic  '.<'■  Philadelphia  on  that  viry  hiisine;'^.  to 
see  his  lawyeis  and  have  everything:  concerning  ins 
guardianship  of  Mary  put  on  a  lega  basis,  and  M  s. 
Morton  had  gone  with  him  to  do  s.  ine  shopping. 

The  Mayfair  girls,  who  all  were  present  except 
Kitty  Hogan,  gathered  helplessly  around  Mary,  and 


Mks.  Miles  Grows  Desperate.  179 


the  boyt  prepared  gallantly  to  protect  her.  The 
carriage  drove  straight  in  through  the  Mortons' 
gate.  The  children  in  Mayfair  had,  for  the 
moment,  passed  unnoticed,  for  they  were  keeping 

very  quiet  under  the  trees. 

Was  there  an  occupant  of  the  carriage?  The 
children  held  their  breaths.  They  watched  to  see 
the  white-haired  coachman  alight  and  ascend  the 
steps.  But  he  did  not  do  so.  Instead,  the  carriage 
door  was  opened  and  a  woman  heavily  veiled 
stepped  out 

"Mrs.  Miles!"  cried  Mary,  with  a  shuddering, 
sickening  terror  in  her  voice. 

Jack  Holland  did  not  stop  to  think.  Moved  by 
a  sudden  impulse,  he  took  Mary's  hand. 

"Come,"  he  exclaimed,  "you  can't  face  her!" 

For  lie  had  seen  Mrs.  Miles  on  the  memorable 
night  in  the  long  barn,  and  he  knew  whereof  he 
spoke.  Mary,  wild  with  terror,  seized  the  out- 
stretched i  and  and  Heel,  keeping  pace  with  the  fleet- 
footed  Jack,  who  was  the  swiftest  nnincr  at  col- 
lege. When  tiu'v  were  in  the  heart  of  the  w(^od, 
which  lay  at  some  distance  up  on  a  height  over- 
looking Mayfair,  Jack  stopped. 

"Sit  down,"  he  said,  and  as  Mary  leaned  back 
exhausted  against  a  tree  he  fanned  her  with  his  hat. 


i8o       Mrs.  Miles  Grows  Desperate. 


"She'll  never  find  you  here,"  he  said,  re- 
assuringly. He  felt  sorry  for  "the  kid"  as  he 
glanced  at  her  wan  and  terror-stricken  face. 

"If  she  should  come—"  Mary  cried,  locking  up 
at  the  tall  figure  of  the  boy  where  he  stood,  erect 
and  vigorous,  his  eager  face  flushed  by  the  exertion 
of  running. 

"Oh,  at  the  worst,  I  think  I  can  take  care  of 
you."  declared  Jack,  manfully.  "She  can't  bully 
me,  and  I'd  like  to  see  her  lay  a  finger  on  you 
when  I'm  around." 

For  all  his  airs,  he  was  an  honest-hearted,  manly 
fellow,  with  a  protective  feeling  toward  whatever 
was  weak,  and  he  was  full  of  indignation  against 
the  woman  who  made  this  poor  girl's  life  miserable. 
Being  courageous,  he  was  also  strong  and  athletic. 
Mary's  own  courage  rose  a  little  when  she  looked 
up  at  him.  During  this  past  dream-like  week  she 
was  experiencing  the  new  sensation  of  havmg 
people  to  protect  her  and  stand  between  her  and 
evil. 

She  had  been  so  forlorn,  left  to  the  tender  mercies 
of  Mrs.  Miles,  who  I. ad  made  it  her  delight  to  in- 
vent new  and  cruel  methods  of  "disciplining  her," 
as  the  ph.rase  liad  been  at  I!  iv  ;hy  Hall.  So  she 
rested  in  the  pleasant  coolness  of  the  i^ood,  where 


Mis.  Miles  Grows  Desperate.  i8i 

the  glare  of  the  sun  was  shut  out  by  the  green  trees 
overhead,  with  a  feeling  of  comparative  security. 

"I  guess  the  other  fellows  will  show  fight  down 
there,  all  right  enough."  Jack  thought.  But  he 
was,  in  truth,  a  little  anxious  and  extrtmely  curious 
to  see  the  upshot  of  the  aflfair.  At  first,  those  of 
the  boys  and  girls  who  remained  were  very  averse 
indeed  to  showing  fight,  with  the  solitary  exception 
of  Hugh.  He  restrained  the  rest  when  they  would 
have  run  after  Mary  and  Jade  to  the  woods,  sayii^ 
that  Mrs.  Miles  would  probably  follow  and  that, 
as  she  couldn't  hurt  any  of  them,  they  had  better 
stay  and  face  her. 

This  seemed  reasonable,  though  not  altogether 
satisfactory,  and  the  little  band  stood  still  awaiting 
Mrs.  Miles,  who  had  been  ringing  the  Mortons' 
door-bell.  She  was  met  at  the  door  with  the  in- 
formation that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Morton  were  out.  and 
Miss  Pemberton  too.  The  maid,  who  knew  some- 
thing of  the  affair,  especially  after  a  startled  glance 
at  the  eyes  which  seemed  to  bum  through  the  veil, 
did  not  think  it  necessary  to  say  anything  about 
Mayfair.  But  Mrs.  Miles,  turning  to  go  down  the 
steps,  cast  her  sharp  eyes  around  and  pierced  the 
group  of  boys  and  girls  under  the  trees.  She  made 
directly  for  them,  passing  out  of  the  gate  with  her 


1 82       Mrs.  Miles  Grows  Desperate. 

swift,  cat-like  tread,  and  across  the  road.  Mary's 
companions  waited  for  the  woman  with  trembling 
fascination  as  they  saw  her  draw  nearer  and  nearer. 

There  was  something  terrifying  about  the  woman, 
something  weird  and  eerie,  to  which  Mary's  terror 
at  the  very  mention  of  her  name  and  their  own 
imaginations  added  indescribably.  Luke  Morris, 
who  had  felt  the  clutch  of  her  bony  fingers  and 
had  seen  her  evil  face  close  to  his  in  the  shadow  of 
the  long  barn,  gave  vent  to  his  feelings  in  a 
groan.  He  was  admonished  by  Hugh  Graham  to 
"shut  up." 

Yet  even  Hugh's  stout  heart  quailed  within  him 
as  'Mrs.  Miles  came  near.  He  thought  it  would  be 
less  fearful  if  she  were  not  veiled,  if  that  face  he 
too  had  seen,  ghastly  in  the  darkness,  could  be 
revealed,  clearly  and  plainly.  She  entered  at  the  gate, 
and  seemed  to  bring  something  of  the  chill  and 
dark  atmosphere  of  Hornby  Hall  into  the  pleasant 
field  of  Mayfair,  strewn  with  daisies  and  butter- 
cups upon  which  the  sun  shone  down  so  warmly. 

Mrs.  Miles  came  close  to  the  trembling  group 
"and  suddenly  raised  her  veil.  She  had  often  punished 
Mary  simply  by  standing  before  her,  especially 
at  night,  and  glaring  at  her.  So  she  glared  on  the 
present  occasion,  speaking  no  word  for  fully  five 


Mss.  Miles  Grows  Desperate.  183 

minutes.  Marjorie  could  not  endure  it  and  shud- 
deringly  hid  her  face  on  DoUie  Martin's  shoulder, 
while  the  Lewis  girls  and  Luke  Morris  turned  away 
and  fled  ignominiously.  They  took  care,  however, 
not  to  betray  Mary's  whereabouts  by  going  in  the 
direction  she  had  taken. 

"Gosh!"  cried  Luke,  apologetically,  when  the 
two  stopped  at  last  for  breath.  "I  couldn't 
stand  it!" 

Marie  looked  at  him  with  a  smile  in  which  there 
was  some  contempt.  Timid  herself,  she  admired 
courage  in  others,  especially  in  a  boy.  Luke  read 
the  glance  and,  feeling  ashamed,  managed  to  stam- 
mer out :  ^ 

"If  you  had  got  the  fright  I  did  the  other  night, 
when  I  was  sentry  at  the  long  bam,  you  wouldn't 
wonder  that  I  ran  away." 

Marie,  who  was  not  outspdcen  like  Marjorie, 
merely  said :  "She  is  very  terrible  and  I  am  never 
brave.  I'm  a  wretched  coward." 

"I'm  not  always  a  coward,"  pleaded  poor  Luke. 
"You  can  ask  the  other  fellows." 

"Oh,  I'm  sure  you're  not!"  Marie  murmured  in 
her  gentle  voice.  "This  fearful  woman  is  enough 
to  frighten  any  one.  Think  of  poor  Mary's  having 
to  live  in  the  house  with  her." 


i84       Mrs.  Miles  Grows  Desperate. 

"She  won't  any  more,"  Florence  Lewis  remarked. 
"Mr.  Morton  says  he  is  going  to  keep  her  here. 
But  do  you  know,  I  think  it  was  dreadful  of  us  to 
run  away  and  leave  them." 

There  was  an  expression  of  real  r^et  on  her 
honest  face  as  she  spoke. 

"Well,  it  can't  be  helped  now !"  Marie  exclaimed, 
rather  shortly,  "and  I  think  we'd  better  get  away 
from  her  or  the  carriage  may  be  coming." 

This  thought  sent  all  three  homeward  as  speedily 
as  possible. 

Meanwhile  Hugh  Graham  manfully  stood  his 
ground,  well  to  the  front  of  the  group,  and  the  Wal- 
lace boys,  though  in  fear  and  trembling,  for  they 
were  neither  very  big  nor  very  brave,  supported 
him.  Marjorie  and  DoUie,  it  must  be  confessed, 
kept  behind  the  tall  figure  of  their  young  protector. 
Mrs.  Miles  let  her  cold  eyes,  fierce  with  a  terrible 
malignity,  travel  from  face  to  face.  Then  she  said, 
in  the  hissing,  icy  tones  which  Mary  had  always 
found  so  terrible: 

"So  the  bird  is  flown !" 

This  being  undeniable,  no  one  said  anything. 

"But  do  you  think  I  will  go  back  without  her?" 
she  inquired,  striking  her  umbrella  upon  the  ground, 
as  if  it  were  an  oaken  staff. 


Mrs.  Miles  Grows  Desperate.  185 


'Even  if  Miss  Pcmberton  were  here,"  declared 
Hugh,  firmly,  "we  couldn't  let  her  go  bade  without 
Mr.  Morton's  knowledge." 

**Oh,  you  couldn't!"  cried  the  woman,  drawing 
so  near  to  Hugh  that  it  seemed  she  meditated  doing 
him  violence. 

And  then  a  sudden  courage  came  into  Mar- 
jorie's  heart.  She  was  after  all  the  daughter  of 
the  house.  It  was  for  her  to  speak  and  she  had 
been  taught  never  to  shirk  doing  the  right  thing. 
She  stepped  forward,  throwing  back  her  iiead  with 
its  tangled  curls,  and  took  her  place  by  Hugh  Gra- 
Iiam's  side. 

"I  am  Mr.  Morton's  daughter,"  she  announced. 

"You  are  Mr.  Morton's  daughter,  are  you?" 
Mrs.  Miles  repeated,  wagging  her  head  frcmi  side 
to  side  and  advancing  closo  to  the  girl.  "You  are 
Mr.  Morton's  daughter?" 

The  words,  as  they  were  uttered,  sounded  por- 
tentous, and  there  was  a  new  gleam  of  deadly  mal- 
ignity in  the  woman's  eyes.  For  at  that  moment 
a  sudden  resolution  took  possession  of  Mrs.  Miles 
and  she  stood  still,  weighing  the  chances  for  and 
against  her  plan,  in  the  dark  recesses  of  her  mind. 

"And  Hugh  is  quite  right,"  Marjorie  went  on, 
resolutely;  "even  if  Mary  were  here  we  couldn't 


i86       Mrs.  Miles  Grows  Desperate. 

let  her  go  with  you,  for  my  father  says  she  is  never 
to  go  back  to  Hornby  Hall." 

"If  she's  not  to  go  b.  ck  to  Hornby  Hall,"  cried 
the  woman,  clutching  Marjorie  with  almost  insane 
fury,  "how  would  you  like  to  go  in  her  place?  Here, 
Silas  Greene!" 

The  white-haired  coachman  sprang  from  the 
box,  just  as  Mrs.  Miles  raised  Marjorie  in  her 
strong  arms. 

"Take  care  of  that  young  fool  there  "  she  cried, 
pointing  to  Hugh,  "till  I  get  this  wildcat  into  the 
carriage." 

Silas  Greene,  rushing  at  Hugh,  grappled  with 
him,  tripping  up  Ned  Wallace  by  a  dexterous  move- 
ment of  his  foot  as  he  sought  to  interfere,  so  that 
he  fell  sprawling  on  the  ground.  George  Wallace, 
leaping  the  fence,  made  a  rush  across  the  road 
toward  the  Morton  ',  and  DoUie  Martin  ran  for 
Jack,  screaming  at  the  top  of  her  voice.  Jack  heard 
and  came  down  at  full  speed,  at  the  very  instant 
that  Dick  Dalton  strolled  in  at  the  gate. 

They  lost  not  a  moment  in  words,  but  made  a 
"simultaneous  rush  toward  Mrs.  Miles,  seizing  and 
holding  her,  while  Jack  sternly  bade  her  put  down 
the  young  lady.    She  stood  still,  only  tightening 
her  grasp  upon  Marjorie. 


Mrs.  Miles  Grows  Desperate.  187 

"Dick,  you  hold  her,  and  I'll  soon  make  her  give 
up  her  prize!"  said  Jack,  and  in  another  moment 

Marjorie  stood  flushed,  indignant,  terrified,  but  free. 

"Get  into  the  house  as  quick  as  you  can,"  ordered 
Jack.   "We'll  hold  her  till  you're  perfectly  safe." 

Marjorie's  flying  feet  crossed  the  road  at  the 
very  time  that  George  Wallace's  frantic  pounding 
upon  the  door  had  been  heard.  The  frightened 
women  servants  were  now  seen  upon  the  steps, 
deploring  the  fact  that  Jerry  was  away  and  had 
taken  the  dog  with  him. 

Mrs.  Miles,  seeing  that  Marjorie  had  escaped, 
stood  the  picture  of  sullen  and  baffled  rage. 

"Put  me  into  the  carriage!"  she  ordered  in  a 
hard  voice.  "Silas  Greene,  drop  that  fool  and  come 
on. 

The  coachman  did  as  he  was  told,  relaxing  the 
iron  grip  he  had  taken  of  Hugh  Graham,  for  he 
was  a  powerful  fellow  despite  his  white  hair.  He 
mounted  the  driver's  seat  and  prepared  to  drive  off. 
Mrs.  Miles'  face  was  terrible  to  behold.  Her  hair 
streamed  down  from  under  her  bonnet,  which  with 
the  veil  had  fallen  off.  Her  eyes  glared,  and  she 
'vas  more  livid  of  color  than  ever.  She  was  a  bold 
and  desperate  woman,  and  it  Imd  seemed  possible 
to  her  by  securing  possession  of  Marjorie  to 


1 88       Mrs.  Miles  Grows  Desperate. 

effect  a  compromise  with  Mr.  Mortt  .i,  whom  she 
guessed  was  in  possession  of  much  information 
concerning  her.  And  it  would  be,  moreover,  a  de- 
lightful revenge  upon  her  enemy.  All  her  plans 
had  been  upset  by  the  '  ^Id  and  resolute  action  of 
the  two  lads.  She  .  now  nursing  a  sullen 
fury,  which  threatened  to  break  forth  into  fierce 
imprecations. 

'* You  fools !  you  vipers !"  she  cried,  shaking  her 
fist  at  the  boys,  "I'll  be  even  with  v  i  yet,  and  as 
for  that  bird  that's  out  of  the  cage,  x  U  never  rest 
til!  she's  in  it  again." 

By  this  time  the  cook  and  the  housemaids,  with 
Julie  at  their  head,  were  running  distracted  across 
the  road  agitated  and  curious.  Mrs.  Miles  never 
deigned  them  a  Word  or  glance : 

"Drive  on,  Silas  Greene!"  she  commanded. 
And  the  lumbering,  van-like  vehicle  drove  away 
down  the  dusty  highway.    The  boys  stood,  and 
looked  after  it,  as  it  took  that  awful  presence  from 
their  sight  and  lives  forever. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


VISITORS  TO  HORNBY  HALL. 

WHEN  Mr.  Morton  returned  home  and  heard 
what  had  occurred,  his  indignation  was  so 
great  that  he  was  narrowly  restrained  y  Mrs.  Mor- 
ton from  going  directly  to  Hornby  Hail. 

"I  would  not  go  to-day,"  urged  the  wife;  "your 
right  to  the  child  is  now  clearly  established,  and 
when  once  that  is  made  known  to  Mr.  Pemberton, 
the  woman  Miles  will  hardly  care  to  put  herself  in 
pposition  to  the  law.  Moreover — " 

"Yes,  I  know,"  interrupted  Mr.  Morton,  grimly, 
"\ve  may  be  able  to  draw  her  claws  effectively  when 
I  have  had  that  interview  with  old  Pemberton." 

"I  would  wait,  then,  till  you  are  perfectly  cool 
and  collected." 

"I  am  cool  enough  now.  for  that  matter!''  cried 
Mr.  Morton,  wiping  his  brow,  but  his  wife  only 
smiled  and  laid  a  hand  upon  his  arm,  and  he  had  to 

189 


I9G  Visitors  to  Hornby  Hall. 

smile,  too.  It  was  agreed,  however,  that  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Morton  should  go  together  and  literally  beard 
the  lion  in  his  den.  They  felt  confident  lliey  would 
be  able  to  clear  up,  once  and  forever,  the  mystery 
which  had  so  long  cast  its  dark  shadow  over  Hornby 
Hall. 

It  was  certain  that,  in  any  event,  Mary  was  to 
remain  with  the  Mortons,  to  go  to  the  convent  with 
Marjorie  in  the  autumn,  and  to  be  at  once  instructed 
in  her  father's  faith,  in  which,  it  had  been  definitely 
understood  at  the  time  of  the  marriage,  she  was  to 
be  brought  up.  It  w^-Ud  depend  entirely  on  the 
dispositions  of  her  grandfather  after  he  heard  Mr. 
Morton's  tale  whether  or  not  Mary  should  be 
allowed  any  further  communication  with  the  home 
which  had  been  little  more  to  her  than  a  cruel  prison. 

When  the  next  morning  dr  vned,  bright  and  fair, 
Mr.  Morton  wandered  about  aimlessly,  unable  to 
settle  to  anything  until  that  critical  interview  was 
over.  The  carriage  was  ordered  for  two  o'clodc 
precisely,  and  into  it  stepped  the  husband  and  wife. 
All  the  boys  and  girls  had  assembled  in  Mayfair, 
having  some  idea  of  what  was  going  on. 

"I  leave  Mary  in  your  care,"  Mr.  Morton 
cautioned  the  young  folks,  "but  if  there  should  be 
any  sign  whatever  of  Mrs.  Miles  or  of  the  carriage 


Visitors  to  Hornby  Hall.  191 

from  Hornby,  go  instantly  into  the  house,  where 
admittance  will  be  refused  Mrs.  Miles  or  any 
strangers.  And  there  is  one  addition  to  your  circle 
I  would  suggest." 

"Who  is  that,  papa?*'  asked  Marjorie,  wonder- 
ingly. 

Mr.  Morton  pointed  to  the  kennel,  whence  pro- 
truded the  head  of  the  Mt.  St.  Bernard.  The  dog 
got  up  lazily,  as  if  aware  that  he  was  being  made 

the  subject  of  the  conversation,  yawned,  stretched 
himself  and  advanced,  slowly  wagging  his  Sfrfendid 

tail  as  if  it  were  a  plume. 

"He  will  he  your  best  protection,"  went  on  Mr. 
Morton.  "With  him  stretched  at  Marjorie's  feet, 
well!  even  Mrs.  Miles  will  hardly  dare  lay  a  finger 

any  one  of  you." 

This  proposal  was  hailed  with  satisfaction, 
though  the  older  boys  asserted  they  could  take  care 
of  the  girls  without  assistance.  Jack,  in  particular, 
was  somewhat  boastful,  in  consequence  of  the  hap- 
penings of  the  previous  day,  and  poor  Luke  Morris, 
reddening  to  the  ears,  could  scarce  raise  his  head. 
The  group,  indeed,  ranged  themselves  in  order  of 
battle,  but  as  the  afternoon  wore  on  without  any 
signs  of  the  enemy,  they  engaged  in  a  game  of  tag. 
They  were  careful  always,  however,  to  keep  a  sharp 


.  ( 

t  > 


192         Visitors  to  Hornby  Hall. 

lookout.  Nero,  synipatlietic  clog  that  he  was,  joined 
i„  the  sport,  leaping  over  the  daisy-  and  buttercup- 
strewn  grass  in  ungainly  frolics,  barking  joyfully 
and  otherwise  showing  his  good  will.  Or,  again, 
he  lay  down  upon  the  grass,  under  the  tree,  watch- 
ing with  benevolent  eye  his  young  mistress  and  her 
companions,  all  of  whom,  in  his  wise  dog-fashion, 
he  regarded  as  persons  to  be  trusted. 

When  tired  of  the  game,  the  circle  reformed  on 
the  benches  in  the  shade  and  talked  over  late  events, 
in  that  pleasant,  confidential  manner  into  which 
children,  as  well  as  their  elders,  occasionally  glide, 
particularly  when  any  grave  crisis  is  at  hand.  For 
the  hoys  and  girls  all  felt  that  there  was  something 
unusual  in  the  air,  and  the  stress  of  the  last  few 
days  had  united  them  wonderfully.   All  was  peace 
and  harmony,  like  that  between  the  grass  and  the 
flowers,  or  the  birds  and  the  leafy  tops  of  the  trees. 
Even  Jack  and  Marjorie  refrained  from  their  ever- 
lasting strife  of  tongues.    All  the  children  knew 
that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Morton  had  gone  to  Hornby 
Hall  and  that  Mary's  fate  trembled  in  the  balance, 
.  and  this  made  them  thoughtful.   But  they  did  not 
fail  to  look  up  and  down  the  road  occasionally,  lest 
Mrs.  Miles  should  steal  upon  them  stealthily. 

Mrs.  Miles,  however,  was  meditating  no  such 


Visitors  to  Hornby  Hall. 


193 


attempt.   She  was  peering  from  an  upper  window 

of  Hornby  Hall,  behind  a  dingy  shutter,  at  the  car- 
riage which  drove  rapidly  in  at  the  aveni  gate. 
It  turned  its  course  through  the  stiff  lines  of  poplars 
a-  surely  and  steadily  as  fate.  Once  at  the  house, 
the  bell  jingled  sharply  at  Mr.  Morton's  ring,  and 
the  woman  with  the  white,  scared  face  opened  the 
door  at  the  summons  and  returned  to  inform  her 
master.  The  liusband  and  wife  waited  in  that  once 
familiar  room.  It  was  now  both  dreary  and  ghostly, 
with  the  dank  chill  coming  in  irom  the  weed- 
grown  garden  without  Mr.  Morton  stood  before 
the  picture  of  his  cousin  Bessie,  and  forded  it 
with  the  wistful  gaze  which  maturity  gives  to  that 
which  recalls  youth. 

He  was  thus  occupied  v;hen  the  grr  ig  of  the 
invalid  chair  was  heard  on  the  polishet  loor  and 
Mr.  Pemberton  was  wheeled  into  tiiC  room.  He 
was  cold,  impassive  as  r-  er,  but  '  eyes  burned  in 
his  grim  countenance  v..  1  a  baicful  light.  Mr. 
Morton  turned  from  the  contemplation  of  the 
picture  and  bowed  to  the  old  man.  Mrs.  Morton 
s;  luted  him  with  equal  formality.  Mr.  Pemberton 
began,  in  that  metallic  voice  which  so  grated  upon 
the  ear: 

''And  so,  Mr.  Henry  Morton,  you  have  been 


194         Visitors  to  Hornby  Hall. 

striving  to  distinguish  yourself  in  a  new  role,  that 
of  kidnapper." 

"I  have  simply  done  my  duty,  sir,  a  duty  too  long 
delayed,"  responded  Mr.  Morton,  gravely. 

"I  trusted  to  your  honor,"  began  the  old  man, 
and  broke  off  speaking  with  a  bitter  laugh.  "Honor, 
I  might  have  known,  is  what  it  means  to  most  men, 
fiction,  a  veil  of  respectability  thrown  over  doubt- 
ful deeds.  It  ranks  in  my  mind  with  religion,  a 
conventional  cloak  of  hypocrisy." 

"That,  sir,"  interposed  Mr.  Morton,  "I  refuse  to 
discuss  with  you.  Religion,  thank  God,  is  with  me 
and  mine  an  integral  part  of  life.  You  will  permit  me 
to  say  that  the  want  of  it  has  darkened  your  own 
life  and  occasioned  many  of  its  worst  misfortunes." 

Mr.  Pemberton  took  a  pinch  of  snuff,  and  looked 
at  the  speaker  with  a  sardonic  smile. 

"You  are  a  bold  fellow.  Henry  Morton."  he  ex- 
claimed, "to  come  into  my  presence  with  such 
language.  But  what  I  want  to  hear  instead,  and 
what  is  so  vitally  important  that  I  shall  insist  upon 
hearing  it.  is  when  you  are  going  to  restore  the  girl 
, /'o  went  from  this  house  to  yours  and  who  happens 
to  be  my  grandchild.  I  have  permitted  the  farce 
to  go  on  for  a  day  or  two,  but  you  and  she  shall 
dearly  rue  your  part  in  it." 


Visitors  to  Hornby  Hall. 


195 


"I  will  tell  you  at  once  and  frankly,"  declared 
Mr.  Morton,  speaking  now  without  a  shadow  of 
fear  or  hesitation,  "that  as  the  guardian  at  law  of 
Mary  Pemberton,  appointed  by  her  father  and 
mother,  I  can  no  longer  delegate  that  trust  to  any 
one." 

"The  gtiardian  at  law,"  repeated  Mr.  Pemberton, 
sarcastically.  "You  were  a  very  long  time  in  claim- 
ing that  title,  and  you  will  be  a  still  longer  time  in 
proving  your  claim." 

"That  point  had  better  be  settled  at  once!"  de- 
clared Mr.  Morton,  coolly.  And  he  drew  from  his 
pocket  a  document  at  sight  of  which  a  slight  tremor 
of  uneasiness  passed  over  the  old  man's  face. 

"This  is  a  copy,"  continued  the  visitor,  "of  a  will 
executed  in  due  form  by  your  son,  Philip  Pember- 
ton. The  original  I  have  deposited  with  my  at- 
torney in  Philadelphia." 

Mr.  Pemberton  shaded  his  eyes  with  his  hand, 
as  though  the  light  hurt  him,  but  he  did  not  remove 
his  keen  and  hawk  like  gaze  from  the  younger 
man's  face. 

"Would  you  care  to  examine  into  the  provisions 
of  that  will?"  inquired  Mr.  Morton,  extending  the 
parchment  toward  the  recumbent  figure  in  the  chair. 
But  Mr.  Pemberton  waved  it  aside. 


196         Visitors  to  Hornby  Hall. 

"My  solicitor  will  do  that,"  he  replied  curtly, 
"and  believe  me,  he  will  subject  to  a  rigid  scrutiny 
the  provisions  of  a  document  which  has  been  resur- 
rected from  no  one  knows  where  so  very  oppor- 
tunely." 

"It  has  been  unearthed,  as  you  say,  opportunely," 
responded  Mr.  Morton,  quietly,  "under  somewhat 
peculiar  circumstances,  which  I  am  prepared  to  ex- 
plain." 

The  old  man  sat  waiting,  but  there  was  some- 
thing strained  and  unnatural  in  his  attitude. 

"It  is  well,  however,"  resumed  Mr.  Morton,  "to 
make  clear,  in  the  first  place,  another  clause  in  the 
document." 

"And  that  is?"  inquired  the  metallic  voice. 

"That  not  only  does  Mary  Pemberton  pass  under 
my  guardianship,  but  that  she  is  constituted  heir 
at  law  to  a  very  considerable  fortune.  A  portion 
of  this  fortune  belonged  to  her  mother  and  another 
portion  to  her  father,  inherited  from  his  mother." 

"It  is  false!"  cried  the  old  man,  trying  to  rise 
.in  his  chair  and  falling  back  helplessly.    "It  is  a 
conspiracy  to  defraud  me.  to  get  control  for  your- 
selves of  this  property  which  you  claim  for  the  child." 

A  dark  flush  mounted  to  Mr.  Morton's  very  fore- 
head, and  he  repressed  his  anger  by  a  strong  effort. 


Visitors  to  Hornby  Hall.  197 

"You  are  an  eld  and  helpless  man,  sir/'  said  he, 
**but  you  must  not  forget  to  whom  you  are  speak- 
ing." 

The  tone  and  manner  had  some  effect  upon  Mr. 
Pemberton  and  he  strove  to  restrain  the  fury  which 
possessed  him. 

"This  will  shall  be  investigated,"  he  cried, 
"examined  in  every  detail.  That  hated  child  shall 
not  possess  the  property.  Hated !  Yes,  in  all  these 
years,  during  which  she  came  into  my  presence  a 
white  martyr,  with  eyes  like  those  of  the  picture, 
upbraiding,  and  with  a  turn  of  the  head  and  a 
movement  of  the  hand  so  like  another.  She  spdce 
no  word,  but  the  voice  of  her  attitude  spoke 
volumes ;  and  each  time  I  gave  her  up  to  Mrs.  Miles, 
to  see  if  tfiat  wonderful  creature  could  overcome 
her  mute  obstinacy." 

Husband  and  wife  exchanged  a  glance  of  horrOT, 
as  the  weird  figure  before  them  seemed  oblivious 
for  the  moment  of  their  presence.  Mr.  Morton, 
however,  rallied  the  old  man's  scattered  senses  by 
a  question. 

"You  remember,  perhaps,  on  a  late  occasion, 
when  your  rest  was  disturbed  toward  midnight?" 

"Well,  if  it  were  so,  what  of  that?"  asked  Mr. 
Pemberton,  his  attention  immediately  arreted. 


198         Visitors  to  Hornby  Hall. 

"You  found  the  house  brilliantly  illuminated  and 
Mrs.  Miles  playing  a  comedy,  as  you  declared,  for 
some  who  were  outside." 

"You  heard  these  words!  You  were  there!  You 
were  listening!"  cried  the  old  man,  highly  excited. 

"I  heard  those  words.  I  was  there.  I  was  listen- 
ing," ad.nitted  Mr.  Morton,  quietly.  "Mrs.  Miles 
spoke  to  you  of  chicken  thieves  as  a  possible  ex- 
planation. She  further  hinted  at  attempt  of  bur- 
glary. But  Mrs.  Miles  knew  very  well  that  the 
hen-roost  and  Hornby  Hall  were  equally  safe  from 
thcie  outside.  She  was  aware  of  what  that  band 
of  resolute  fellows  had  come  to  seek,  of  the  identity 
of  the'.*  leader,  and  both  facts  she  kept  from  your 
knowledge." 

Mr.  Ponberton's  face  had  changed,  stiffened,  as 
he  listened.  Here  was  concealment,  at  least,  if  not 
treachery  in  the  only  being  he  had  for  many  long 
years  trusted. 

"I  presume,"  he  observed  at  length  with  an  effort, 
but  it  was  more  as  though  he  were  arguing  with 
himself  than  addressing  his  listeners,  "I  presume 
.she  did  not  wish  do  disturb  my  rest  with  the  tales." 

"She  did  not  wish  you  to  know  that  the  missing 
will  had  been  taken  from  its  hiding-place  in  the 
long  barn." 


Visitors  to  Hornb*:  Hall.  199 


"What  do  you  mean?  What  are  you  talking 
about?"  cried  the  old  man,  in  visible  agitation.  "She 
told  me  she  had  searched  the  long  Harn  and  there 
was  not  so  much  as  a  scrap  of  paper  there." 

"There  were  a  good  many  others,"  said  Mr,  Mor- 
ton, significantly,  "even  if  the  particular  scrap  o' 
paper  she  was  in  search  of  failed  to  reach  her  eyes." 

"Explain  yourself,  and  at  once!" 

"That  I  am  about  to  do,  if  you  will  give  me  your 
attention." 

"One  moment,"  interrupted  Mr.  Pemberton,  and 
he  impatiently  touched  the  bell,  which  jerked  his 
attendant  into  the  room.  "Shut  out  some  of  that 
light,"  he  commanded. 

The  man  obeyed,  drawing  down  the  Venetian 
blind  so  that  the  last  rays  of  the  afternoon  sun 
should  not  fall  across  the  aged  face,  to  display  its 
changes.  That  sole  ray  of  heaven's  blessedness 
that  ever  entered  Hornby  being  «hut  out.  the  room 
took  on  an  indescribable  dinginess  and  a  sinister 
dartcness. 

"Now,  sir!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Pemberton,  and  the 
tale  was  begun. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 


iiR.  Morton's  tale,  which  unveils  the 

MYSTERY. 

"J  WAS  the  leader  in  that  enterprise,"  began  Mr. 

1  Morton,  "of  the  other  night.  I  had  been 
given  a  clue  to  the  mystery  of  years,  and  had  some 
reason  to  believe  that  your — that  Philip — " 

The  old  man  started  as  if  an  adder  had  stung 
him. 

"Spare  me,"  he  cried,  "as  much  as  possible  all 
reference  to  Philip  Pemberton." 

"I  am  afraid,"  objected  Mr.  Morton,  "that  his 
name  must  necessarily  come  into  my  narrative,  but 
I  beg  of  you  to  hear  me  out  patiently.  I  am  con- 
vinced that  you  will  not  r^et  having  done  so." 

"Begin,  then,  that  you  may  the  sooner  end," 
snapped  Mr.  Pemberton,  irritably. 

"It  is  my  firm  belief  that  in  concealing  his  last 
•will  and  testament  in  the  long  barn,  Philip  Pem- 
berton so  acted  because  he  feared  and  distrusted 
Mrs.  Miles." 

200 


Mr.  Morton's  Tale.  201 

Mr.  Morton  paused.  In  the  dimness  he  could 
not  see  the  old  man's  face,  and  only  a  harsh  "Go 
on !"  greeted  the  remark. 

"He  hid  it  away,  then,  and  it  remained  in  the 

hiding-place  till  I  discovered  it.  In  the  many  visits 
which  Mrs.  Miles  paid  secretly  and  by  night  to  the 
long  barn,  that  providence  which  protects  the  in- 
nocent concealed  from  her  this  document,  which 
she  would  assuredly  have  destroyed,  with  another  to 
which  we  shall  come  later." 

"You  have  made  quite  a  number  of  gratuitous 
assertions,"  interrupted  Mr.  Pemberton,  "some  of 
which  you  may  later  be  called  upon  to  prove ;  but, 
proceed  to  fact." 

"Now,  though  Mrs.  Miles  did  not  discover  the 
document,  she  was  quite  familiar  with  the  loft  above 
the  long  bam,  which  she  used,  indeed,  for  a  variety 
of  purposes.  As  it  was  a  place  impossible  of  access 
without  a  ladder,  it  was  her  custom  to  carry  thither 
a  light  ladder  from  the  neighboring  granarv.  This 
ladder  was  destroyed  by  fire  when  the  barn  was 
burned,  and  Mrs.  Miles  had  been  thus  far  unable 
or  unwilling  to  replace  it  by  another.  Perhaps  she 
was  afraid  that  such  a  proceeding  on  her  part  might 
awaken  suspicion  or  attract  some  one  else's  at- 
tention to  the  long  barn.   But  as  I  have  reason  to 


202  Mr.  Morton's  Tale, 

think,  it  was  a  source  of  anxiety  to  her  that  she  no 
longer  had  access  to  the  loft,  where,  indeed,  she 
had  much  at  stake.  She  had  her  own  secrets  there 
and  an  accumulation  of  evidence  against  herself. 
This  was  one  of  those  errors  of  judgment  on  the 
part  of  the  wicked,  which  seem  to  be  permitted  for 
useful  ends.    She  trusted  to  the  fact  that  the 
servants  of  the  Hall  were  old  and  slow-witted,  com- 
pletely subservient  to  her  will,  and  that  no  stranger 
frequented  the  premises.   So,  in  the  loft  of  the  long 
bam  was  discovered  the  other  night  the  key  to  the 
mystery,  to  the  chain  of  mysteries,  which  so  long 
seemed  to  encircle  Hornby  Hall." 

Old  Mr.  Pemberton  was  erect,  eager,  by  this 
time,  but  he  gave  no  sign,  save  a  tremulous  move- 
ment of  his  hands-on  the  arm  of  his  invalid-chair. 

"To  recur  to  the  past,"  Mr.  Morton  resumed 
after  a  pause,  "Philip  Pemberton  was  not  always 
as  prudent  or  economical  in  financial  affairs  as  his 
father  might  have  desired,  but  he  was  with  all  his 
faults  the  soul  of  honor  and  it  cut  him  to  the  quick 
when,  on  one  occasion,  he  was  accused  of  having 
•  sold  his  militia  uniform  to  pay  some  debt." 

"He  did  dispose  of  it,"  interposed  the  old  man, 
sharply  and  decidedly. 

Mr.  Morton  shook  his  head. 


Which  Unveils  the  Mystery.  203 

"In  view  of  Philip's  own  positive  denial  and  my 
knowledge  of  his  character,  I  never  believed  that 
he  did  so,"  Mr.  Morton  declared;  "the  proof  has 
come  to  hand.  The  uniform,  rolled  into  a  bundle, 
was  found  in  the  loft  of  the  long  bam." 

Mr.  Pemberton  started. 

"Impossible!"  he  cried,  harshly. 

"It  can  be  produced,"  said  Mr.  Mort(»l. 

"WIio  could  have  put  it  there?" 

"Who,  but  one  bearing  enmity  against  Philip 
and  seeking  to  put  enmity  between  him  and  his 
father?" 

"And  that  was?" 

"Mrs.  Miles;  at  least  everything  points  to  such 
a  conclusiiMi,"  declared  Mr.  Morton.  "But  to  pro- 
ceed :  This  matter  of  the  uniform  was  one  of  many 
incidoits  which  set  father  against  son.  These  differ- 
ences culminated  in  a  quarrel,  and  a  blow  and  a  fall 
which  were  supposed  to  have  caused  Philip's  death." 

"Supposed?"  gasped  the  old  man. 

"Falsely  supposed,"  resumed  Mr.  Morton.  "The 
fall  would  have  been  quite  insufficient  to  cause 
death.  A  sleeping  powder  was  administered  secretly 
by  Mrs.  Miles.   The  patient  never  awoke." 

Mr.  Pemberton  gave  a  cry,  which  those  who 
heard  it  would  remember  to  their  dying  day. 


204  Mr.  Morton's  Tah, 

"Mrs.  Miles  was  caught  in  the  act  by  Bessie  Pem- 
berton.  She  fled  from  the  room  to  summon  aid, 
but  was  seized  and  overpowered  by  Mrs.  Miles  and 
her  husband  and  conveyed  to  the  loft  over  the  long 
bam,  where  she  was  detained  a  prisoner.  In  the 
end,  she  partially  lost  her  reason  and  was  persuaded 
by  Mrs.  Miles  to  go  abroad  in  the  care  of  her  maid, 
where,  as  you  know,  she  died." 

"Stop,  sir,  stop!"  interrupted  Mr.  Pemberton. 
"This  is  a  romance  you  are  constructing.  Bessie 
Pemberton,  having  been  witness  to  the  blow  and 
the  fall,  accused  me  in  her  heart  of  having  killed 
her  husband  and  my  son.  She  fled  from  the  house, 
forgetful  of  long  years  of  kindness,  without  giving 
me  an  opportunity  to  explain.  She  fled,  as  you  say, 
to  Europe,  where  she  died." 

"That  is  whn  you  believed,  what  you  have  been 
led  to  believe  ali  these  years,"  corrected  Mr.  Morton, 
**but  my  story  is  nevertheless  the  true  one  and  I  have 
it  here  in  writing,  from  Bessie  Pemberton  herself." 

"You  have  it  there  in  her  writing?"  echoed  the 
old  man,  passing  his  hand  over  his  head,  as  one 
•  bewildered. 

"Yes,  in  her  writing,  which  I  know  well,"  replied 
Mr.  Morton,  taking  from  his  breast  pocket  a  worn 
and  soiled  piece  of  paper.   "This  was  found  by  me 


Which  Unveils  the  Mystery.  205 

in  the  same  secret  hiding-place  which  contained 
Philip's  will,  and,  as  you  will  see,  it  refers  to  the 
circumstance  of  the  will's  concealment  there." 

Me  handed  the  paper  to  the  old  man,  who  took  it 
with  trembling  fingers  and  began  to  read.  All  was 
as  Henry  Morton  had  said.  The  paper,  as  follows, 
began  with  the  solemnity  of  legal  form  and  ended 
in  a  hurried  scrawl: 

"I,  Bessie  Pemberton,  being  now  of  sound  mind, 
but  not  knowing  how  long  my  reason  may  stand 
the  strain  of  these  terrible  events,  desire  to  place  on 
record  my  knowledge  of  all  that  has  recentV  oc- 
curred, and  to  assure  Philip's  father,  who  has  been 
ever  my  kind  friend,  that  he  is  quite  innocent  of 
having  caused  his  son's  death.  The  blow  and  the 
accidental  fall  which  followed  were  declared  by  the 
doctors  insufficient  to  cause  serious  injury.  When 
this  decision  was  made  known,  Mrs.  Miles  instantly 
resolved,  as  I  myself  heard  her  say  to  her  husband, 
to  administer  something  to  Philip  which  should  be 
a  quietus.  For  she  feared  that  on  his  recovery  there 
might  be  a  complete  reconciliation  between  father 
and  son.** 

Mr.  Pemberton  could  read  no  further;  the  paper 
fell  from  his  shaking  hand. 
"ShaU  I  finish  it?"  asked  Mr.  Morton. 


206 


Mm.  MoRTOit's  Tali, 


Mr.  Pcmbcrton  nodded  mechanically. 
"Having  detected  the  woman  in  the  act,  and 
heard  her  avowal  of  the  deed,  alas,  too  late  to  save 
Philip,  I  was  seized  by  Mrs.  Miles,  with  the  aid  of 
her  husband,  conveyed  to  this  dreadful  place, 
whence  she  may  never  let  me  go  alive." 

What  followed  was  merely  a  recapitulation  of 
details,  and  the  scrawl  at  the  end  became  faint,  and 
difikult  to  read. 

Mr.  Morton,  having  folded  the  paper  and  given 
it  to  Mr.  Pembcrton,  continued: 

"In  our  midnight  raid  we  discovered  the  ex- 
planation of  some  minor  mysteries,  which  are  of 
interest  at  this  late  date  chielly  because  they  bear 
upon  those  of  greater  importance.  You  may  re- 
member, perhaps,  Mr.  Pemberton,  the  case  of 
Hester  Primrose,  who  was  charged  with  the  theft 
of  certain  articles  of  jewelry  and  served  a  term  in 
the  county  jail,  after  which  she  disappeared." 

"I  remember  very  well,"  assented  Mr,  Pember- 
ton in  a  strained,  unnatural  voice,  "and  up  to  the 
time  of  the  theft  Hester  Primrose  had  been,  as  .  e 
supposed,  a  faithful  servant." 

"Well,  the  ring  and  the  brooch  and  the  bracelet, 
which  she  was  accused  of  stealing,  are  there  in  the 
loft" 


Which  Unvbils  thb  Mystiky.  J07 

Mr.  Pemberton  gasped. 

"You  may  remember,  possibly,  a  certain  Malachy 
O'Rourke,  who  worked  in  the  garden." 

"Oh,  yes.  he  was  an  Irishman  lately  landed," 
cried  Mr.  Pemberton,  with  some  return  of  his 
sardonic  expression,  "a  liar  and  a  hypocrite,  pre- 
tending to  be  religious,  and  to  be  devoted  to  his 
master,  but  turning  out  in  the  end  a  drunken,  lying, 
worthless  wretch." 

"Malachy  O'Rourke,"  said  Mr.  Morton,  "like 
Hester  Primrose,  became  acquainted  in  tomt  way 
with  some  of  the  facts  above  related." 

Here  the  clock  in  the  hall  tolled  out  the  hour, 
with  a  deep-sounding  toll  which  seemed  an  in- 
tolerable impertinence  and  an  unb-iarable  delay  to 
the  old  man.  For  he  was  leaning  fr  -ward  with 
parted  lips,  his  eyes  alert  and  eager  b'  ;  touched 
with  a  strange  bewilderment. 

"Malachy  O'Rourke,"  went  on  the  narrator,  "was 
dismissed  peremptorily  from  the  Hall  on  charges 
made  by  Mrs.  1  ''es,  all  of  which  were  untrue.  He 
sought,  as  you  iay  remember,  an  interview  with 
his  master,  which  was  refused.  He  even  managed 
to  convey  to  you  a  note  declaring  that  he  suspected 
foul  play  in  mort  than  one  direction." 

"I  received  that  note,"  the  old  man  admitted. 


208 


Mr.  Morton's  Tale, 


"but  as  Mrs.  Miles  agreed  with  me,  and  as  I  sup- 
posed, it  was  a  bare  attempt  of  a  wretch  who  had 
been  found  out  to  blacken  the  character  of  others." 

"It  was,  on  the  contrary,  a  part  of  the  whole 
scheme,  a  determination  on  the  part  of  Mrs.  Miles 
to  rid  herself  of  all  who  could  possibly  bear  witness 
against  her.  Malachy  O'Rourke  will  in  due  time 
be  produced  to  corroborate  what  I  have  stated  and 
to  prove  his  own  continued  respectability  by  testi- 
monials from  all  his  employers." 

"It  has  been  all  a  dream,  a  hideous  nightmare  1" 
exclaimed  Mr.  Pembcrton. 

"There  is  one  person  more,"  went  on  Mr.  Mor- 
ton, "who  knows  something,  if  not  all,  of  the  truth. 
She  is  Hannah  Barton,  still  in  your  employ.  Her 
curiosity  was  awakened  concerning  the  long  barn. 
In  a  spirit  of  mischief,  she  went  there  one  evening, 
just  as  the  dusk  was  falling.  She  had  a  wager  with 
T^Ialachy  O'Rourke  that  she  would  find  out  what 
was  going  on  there.  She  peered  through  cracks 
and  crannies,  and  was  caught  in  the  act  by  Mrs. 
Miles,  who  punished  her  by  shutting  her  up  in  a^ 
small  room  which  opens  off  the  IcMig  bam.  There' 
she  was  compelled  to  listen  all  night  to  sighs  and 
groans  which  she  believed  to  be  supernatural.  Her 
hair  turned  white  during  those  hours  of  captivity. 


Which  Unveils  the  Mystery.  209 

By  morning  she  was  Mrs.  Miles'  slave,  though  she 
discovered  with  the  daylight  that  it  was  no  ghost 
in  the  loft  above,  but  Mrs.  Philip,  whom  she  sup- 
posed from  Mrs.  Miles'  account  to  be  deranged. 
She  never,  as  far  as  is  known,  from  that  day  to  this 
recovered  from  the  fright  nor  spoke  a  word  to  any 
one  of  what  she  had  discovered.  Eyt  Bessie  Pem- 
berton  recorded  the  circumstance  and  no  doubt  it 
can  be  presently  substantiated  from  the  wcnnan's 
own  Hps." 

Mr.  Pemberton  asked  no  further  question.  His 
head  sank  upon  his  breast  and  he  seemed  lost  in  a 
kind  of  stupor. 

"What  I  learned  from  my  cousin  Bessie's  manu- 
script was  in  part,  at  least,  substantiated  by  my 
chance  meeting  with  Malachy  O'Rourke,  who  has 
lately  returned  to  Philadelphia.  He  thinks  he  could 
put  his  finger  on  Hester  Primrose,  if  required,  who 
is  living  in  misery  in  Liverpool.  She  can  give  proof 
as  to  what  Mrs.  Miles  is." 

"That  woman  I  that  fiend  I"  cried  Mr.  Pemberton, 
with  a  sudden  despairing  rage  in  his  voice.  "When 
I  think  of  the  years  of  suffering  she  has  made  me 
endure,  the  maddening,  cruel  years  which  turned  me 
to  stone  and  made  me  hate  even  my  son's  child — 
oh,  lest  I  do  her  an  injury,  let  her  depart  swiftly 


2IO  Mr.  Morton's  Tale, 

from  within  these  walls,  which  she  has  made  ac- 
cursed, from  the  house  which  she  has  turned  into 
a  byword." 

"Have  we  the  right  to  turn  such  a  woman  out 
upon  the  world  unpunished,  to  be  a  menace  to 
society  and  to  our  own  peace?"  Mr.  Morton  asked, 
gravely. 

"But  we  can  not  make  public  these  things,  these 
fearful,  monstrous  things,"  cried  Mr.  Pemberton 
m  agony.  "We  can  not  lay  bare  to  the  mockery 
of  the  world  secrets  so  long  buried." 

"We  can  have  this  woman  arrested  on  a  specific 
charge,"  suggested  Mr.  Morton. 

"I  et  her  go,  let  her  go !"  cried  the  old  man,  and 
for  one  brief  moment  he  stood  erect,  an  awful 
spectacle  of  despairing  grief. 

Mrs.  Morton,  who  had  remained  silent  through- 
out that  painful  interview,  now  hastened  to  the  old 
man's  side.  AU  other  feeling  was  swallowed  up  in 
pity. 

"Bring  her  here  first,"  he  commanded,  "that  I 
may  confront  her  vitii  the  ruin  she  has  caused !" 

The  bell  was  rung  anc!  Mrs.  Miles  was  summoned. 
But  her  room  was  empty,  and  it  was  evident 
from  its  disorder  that  she  had  fled.  She  had  stolen 
down,  indeed,  and  listened  at  the  closed  door  behind 


Which  Unveils  the  Mystery.  an 

which  her  life-story  was  being  told.  As  each  dark 
page  was  unfolded,  she  clenched  her  hands  convul- 
sively, her  ashen  face  contorted  into  a  fearful 
passion  of  baffled  rage  and  hate.  When  she  learned 
that  Malachy  O'Rourke  and  Hester  Primrose  were 
available  as  witnesses,  in  addition  to  those  palpable 
evidences  of  guilt  found  in  the  loft,  she  waited  no 
longer. 

She  stole  back  to  her  room,  put  into  a  satchel 
a  few  of  her  effects,  together  with  the  savings  of 
years.  But  before  she  departed  from  Hornby  Hall, 
of  which  she  had  been  the  evil  genius,  she  paused 
upon  the  threshold,  and  laughed  her  mirthless, 
soundless  laugh. 

"I  came  here,*'  she  said,  "a  young  girl,  full  of  a 
fool's  piety,  believing  in  a  God  and  in  a  lot  of  other 
things.  The  master  himself  by  his  ',neers  and  his 
jibes  destroyed  my  belief.  I  heard  him  laugh  at 
Mrs.  Philip,  who  would  never  give  up  her  faith. 
Day  after  day,  year  after  year,  I  heard  him  call 
those  fools  who  believed  in  what  they  couldn't  see. 
Drop  by  drop,  I  drank  it  in  and  I  began  to  see  like 
him  that  we  all  were  deceived,  that  there  is  no  other 
world  and  no  God.  After  that  I  was  free  to  do  as 
I  pleased,  and  I  did  so.  I  gave  up  Church  and  priests 
and  God,  and  I  became  what  I  am." 


212  Mr.  Morton's  Tale, 

She  laughed  again,  then  looked  back  into  the 
hall  with  a  shuddering  cry. 

"But  there  is  a  God,  and  He  has  made  known 
what  I  thought  the  grave  had  hidden." 

With  a  light  almost  of  insanity  in  her  eyes,  she 
sped  down  the  steps  and  away,  away  from  Hornby 
forever.  She  walked  to  the  nearest  railroad  station 
and  there,  under  cover  of  the  darkness,  took  the 
train  which  would  lead  her  to  town,  thenceforth  to 
lose  herself  in  the  world's  great  whirlpool.  She 
had  little  fear  of  pursuit.  She  knew  her  master 
well  and  that  he  dreaded  pubUcity  as  he  dreaded 
death. 

When  the  place  had  been  searched  and  it  was 
evident  that  Mrs.  Miles  had  really  gone,  wltl.  no 
intentions,  as  was  evident  from  her  preparations, 
of  coming  back,  relief  was  in  every  heart.  And  as 
Henry  Morton  and  his  wife  stood  beside  the  old 
man,  he  said,  in  a  voice  that  was  already  changed 
and  softened:    "Send  for  her  now!  for  Maryl" 

Mr.  Morton  hesitated. 

"Not  to  keep  her— I  do  not  mean  that,"  Mr. 
Pemberton  declared;  "she  shall  never  spend  a  night 
under  this  ill-starred  roof.  But  that  I  may  see  her 
in  the  light  of  this  new  knowledge.  See  Philip's 
child,  knowing  that  I  was  innocent  of  her  father's 


Which  Unveils  the  Mystery.  213 

death.  See  Bessie's  child,  knowing  that  the  mother 
never  doubted  me.  Ah,  that  faith  which  she  held, 
and  which  I  strove  to  destroy,  kept  her  warm  and 
true,  a  beautiful  nature.  She  would  have  uplifted 
Philip  too  had  I  let  her,  and  they  would  have  been 
happy.*' 

The  carriage  was  sent  bade  for  Mary,  and  while 
it  was  gone  Mrs.  Morton  opened  doors  and  windows 
and  let  in  the  air  and  sunshine.  She  bade  Hannah 
Barton  be  merry  for  that  Mrs.  Miles  would  come 
back  no  more.  And  in  some  mysterious  way  she 
imparted  a  new  touch  of  cheerfulness  to  all  the  sur- 
roundings. When  Mary  came  back,  trembling  and 
despairing,  believing  that  she  was  to  be  delivered 
up,  there  was  the  door  of  her  unloved  home  stand- 
ing open  and  the  irreverent  sun  straying  in,  like  a 
careless  child,  making  patterns  upon  the  floor. 
Mary  was  hugged  by  Mrs.  Morton  and  brought 
straight  to  her  grandfather,  who  stretched  out 
tremulous,  eager  arms  to  her  and,  then,  thrust  her 
backward  that  he  might  gAze  into  her  face. 

"Bessie's  child!"  he  murmured,  "Philip's  child! 
My  child !" 

After  which  he  cried  out  to  her  with  a  strange, 
eager  earnestness,  as  if  warning  against  an  instant's, 
delay : 


214  Morton's  Talk. 

"Make  haste  to  learn  your  religion,  child,  your 
mother's  religion,  and  grow  up  like  her  to  be  a 
pure,  sweet,  true-hearted  woman." 

When  they  all  drove  away  that  evening,  it  was 
only  to  return  every  day  to  cheer  the  desolate  old 
man,  who  was  now  faithfully  tended,  not  only  by 
his  own  attendant,  but  by  Hannah  Barton  and 
Malachy  O'Rourke.  The  latter  was  set  to  work  to 
make  the  garden  beautiful  again,  for  its  old-time 
beauty  had  been  ruthlessly  destroyed.  And  many 
a  snatch  of  the  cheerful  and  heart-stirring  melodies 
of  his  native  land  did  the  gardener  sing  under  the 
master's  window. 

The  boys  and  girls  of  Mayfair,  during  each 
summer  vacation,  were  often  found  upon  the  lawn 
at  the  bidding  of  Mr.  Pemberton,  where  bountiful 
refreshments  were  served  and  all  games  provided 
for  their  amusement.    Mary  was  in  their  midst, 
cordial  and  friendly  as  ever,  and  quite  regardless 
of  her  heirship,  not  only  to  this  great  houSi%  but 
much  more  besides.   By  common  cons-  a>   he  p  = 
was  never  touched  upon  in  that  little  intimate  cii 
and  the  countryside  at  large  began  in  the  course 
of  years  to  forget  that  there  had  ever  been  a  mystery 

at  Hornby  Hall. 

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% 


IV.  SERMONS 


CHRJ«!TIAN  MYSTERIES.  Boko- 
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AND  CHIEF  FESTIVALS  OF  THE 


ECCLESIASTICAL  ^'EAR. 
cus.-iM  S.J.    I  vol«.,  nrt,  1(1 
   ;,SEl) 


IHjin 

00. 

LADY. 


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SERMONS  ON  THE  MASS.THE  SAC- 
RAMENTS AND  THE  SACRA- 
MENTALS.   FlYKN.  im,U.1S. 


V.  HISTORY,  BIOGRAPHY,  HAGIOLOOY,  TRAVEL 


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French  and  Polish  at  aama  pricaa. 


VI.  JUVENILES 


FATHER  FINN'S  BOOKS. 
Each,  nel,  Sr.oo. 

ON  THE  RUN.  _ 
BOBKY  IN  MOVIELAND. 
FACING  DANGER. 
HIS  LUCKIEST  YEAR.  AS««wlt0 

"  Lurky  Bob." 
LUCKY  BOB.  . 
PERCY  WYNN;  OR.  MAKINO  A 

BOY  OF  HIM. 
TOMPLAYFAIR;  OR.  MAKING  A 

START 

CLAUDE  LIGHTFOOT;  OR.  HOW 
THE  PROBLEM  WAS  SOLVED. 
HARRY  DEE;  OR,  WORKING  IT 

ETHELRET)  PRESTON;  OR.'!™? 
ADVENTURES    OF    A  NEW- 
COMFR.  «T^ 
THE  BEST   FOOT  FORWARD; 

AND  OTHER  STORIK. 
*  BUT  THY  LOVE  AND  THY 
GRACE." 


CUPID  OF  C.MiriON. 

THAI"  FOOTBALL  GAME,  AND 

WH.\T  CAME  Ol-  i  r. 
THE  FAIRY  OF  THE  S.NOWS. 
THAT  OFFICE  BOY. 
HIS  FIRST  AND  LAST  APPEAR- 

MOSTIA^BOYS.  SHORT  STORIES. 

FATHER     SPALDING'S  BOOKS. 

Each,  net,  Si  oo-  

SIGNALS  FROM  THE  BAY  TREE. 
rtELD  IN  THE  EVERGLADES. 
AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  SAND- 

HILLS. 

THE   CAVE   BY  THE  BEECH 

FORK 

THE  SHERIFF  OF  THE  BEECH 

FOR  K. 

THE  CAMP  BY  COPPER  RIVER, 
THE  RACE  FOR  COPPEiySLAJia 
THE  MARKS  OV  THE  BBAl 
CLAWS. 


TBB  OLD  MUX  ON  THB  WITH- 

ROSE 

THE  SUGAP  \  M!  AFTTR. 
ADVENTURE  HlHJtAPACHr? 

Fuay.   ntt,  r,i.->o. 
ALTUEA.   Nil  lUNrra. 
AS   GOLD    L     THE   FURl^Ai «. 


Copot,  S.I.  •  a.  )  I.3C. 
AS  TRUE  AS  t  Cl  U    M  Aviojf. 


S0.60. 

AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  SAND- 
HILLS.  Spalding,  S.J.    net,  ii.~jo. 
BELL  FOUNDRY.   Schacbinc.  ntl, 

BERJaEYS,  THE.  Wight.  im/.Io.So. 
BEST  TOO  r  FORWARD,  THE.  Flioi. 


AUUZKLC. 


S.J.  n4t,  ti.oo. 
ETW  


BETWEEN  FRIENDS. 

ml,  $0.85. 
BlsTUURl.    Melandri.    net,  $0.60. 
BLISSYLVANIA  POST-OFFICE. 

1  AOnAIT.      ,'M<,  $0.60. 

BOBBY  In  MOVIELAND.  Finh,  S.J. 
fwl,  Si.oo. 

BOBO'LLVK.  Waooamam.  im/,  to.6o. 
BROWNIE  AND  I.  AvMmLB.  «,|e.8s. 
BUNT    AND    BILL.  UviMOUMtD. 

•M(,  $0  60. 

"BUT  THV  LOVE  AND  THY 
GRACE."    FiN.M,  S.J.   lul,  $1.00. 

BY  BRAM3COME  RIVER.  Tagcam. 
ml.  $0.00. 

CAMP  BY  COPPER  RIVER.  Spald- 

rao.  S.J.   Htl,  $1  00. 
CAPTAIN  TEn.  Wacoamam.  n.Sx.is- 
CAVE    BY    THE    BEECH  FORK. 

SpaujDig,  S.J.    «/,  $1.00 
CHILDREN  OF  CUP  A.  Mamox.  ntl, 

«o.6o. 

CHILDREN  OF  THE  LOG  CABIN. 
DlLA^KE.    net,  $0.85. 


CLARE  LORAINE.  "  Lee.'  b,  $0.8 
"CLAUDE  L  


CLAUDE  LlGHfFOOT.     Finn,  S 


1: 


COBkA  ISLAND.  Bottom,  SJ.  na, 

•x-i$.   

COPA  REVISITED.  Mammix.  ml, 
ie.6a 

COTID  OF  CAMPION.  FDn,  S.J. 

DADDY    DAN.     Waocamam.  ntt, 
$•.60. 

DEAR  FRIENDS.   NikouNOU.  tM(, 

D^tlNCS  SUCCESS.  Mvunt.- 

LAHD.   net,  |o.6a 
ETHELRED  PRESTCm.  FBm,  S.J. 

K^Y-SkY  GIRL,  AM.  Cwmn. 


FACING  DANOBR.  tam.  SJ.  Mfb 

fairy"  OF  THE  SNOWS.   Fom.  SJ. 

riNDLNG  OF  TONY.  WAOOAMAif. 

nv^  BIRiisiNANEST.  Dsuuuu. 
ttM  %o  85 

Fivi  O'CLOCK  STORIES.      Wr  m 

RcUfioui.   mt.  to.ii. 
FLOWER  OF  TUB  TLOCK.  BOMT. 

ntt,  $1.15. 

FOR  THE  WHITE  ROSE  HoRtOM. 
ntl,  $0.60. 

FRED'S     LITTLE  DAUGHTER. 

Sum.  Mt,  te.6a 
FREDDY  CARR'S  ADVENTURES. 

Gaerolo,  S.J.   net,  80.85. 
FREDDY  CARR  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 

Gauolo,  S.J.   net,  80.85. 
GOLDEN  LILY,  THE.  ifunaoM.  mi. 

to.6o. 

GREAT  CAPTAIM,  THE.  H»k«om. 
ntl,  $o.6e. 

H.\LDEMAN    CHILDREN,  THE. 

Mannix.  mH,  I0.60. 
HARMO.NY  FLATS.  Wimiiu.  ntt, 

808s. 

HAKRY  DEE.  Fmn,  S.J.  fw/,  81.00. 
HARRY  RUSSELL.   Co»o»,  S.J.  m*, 

HEIR  OF  DREAMS,  AM.  Ollikun. 

n«<,  80.60. 

HELD    IN    THE  EVERGLADES 

Spalding,  S.J.    net,  >'i  m. 
HIS  FIRST  AND  LAST  APPEAR. 

ANCE.    Finn,  S.J.    «<,  81  00. 
HIS  LUCKIEsT  YEAR.   Fisn,  SJ. 

<»*<,  ti.oo. 

HOSTAGE  OF  WAR,  A.  Boioutul. 
net.  80.60. 

HOW  THEY  WORKED  THEIR  WAY. 

Egan.    net,  80.85. 
IN  QUEST  OF  .ADVENTURE.  Utm- 

mx.   net,  80.6a 
IN    QUEST    OF    T^T  GOLDEN 

CHEST.    B  ARTON.    ,tCt,  8o.8(. 


Hfl,  80.60. 

JACK  HILDRETH  ON  THE  NILS. 

Taotart.    net,  80.85. 
JUNIORS  OF  ST.  BEOE'S.  Bctmk. 

JUViNILk  ROUND  TABLE.  Fln8 

SeriM.  net,  8c  Sr. 
JUVENILE  koUND  TABU. 

SeriM.  nei,  80.85. 
KLONDIKE  KohCA. 


LEGENDS  AND  STORIES  OF  THE 
HOLY  CHILD  JESUS.  Low.  nsl, 
io.&s- 

LITTLE  APOSTLE  ON  CRUTCHES. 

UiaAiiABE.   net  V0.60. 
LITTLE  GIRL  FROM  BACK  EAST. 

KoHRBTS.    rut,  to.6o. 
UriLK  LADV    OF  THE  HALL. 

RYKi4.\N.    n'f,  $0  60 

UTTLE  MAR5HALLS  AT  THE 
LARE.   NixoN'RouuT.  iM<,ta85. 

LITTLE  Missy.  Waccaman.  n*t, 
$060. 

LOV \L  BLUE  AND  ROYAL  SCAR- 
LET.   Tagoart.    ntl,  $1.2$. 

LUCKY  BOH.    FiNM,S.J.  ii«<.$i.oe. 

MADCAP  SE r  A  r  sr.  ANNE'S.  tau- 
NOWE.   net,  %o.6o. 

MAD  KNIGHT,  THE.  Schachinc. 
net,  $0.60. 

MAKING  OF  MORTLAKE.  Cores, 

S.J.    nf/,  $i.a.s. 
MAN  FRO.VI  NOWHERE.  Saduer. 

net.  $0.8 ^. 

MARKS  OF  THE  BEAR  CLAWS. 

Spaujing,  S  J.    net.  tt.oa. 
MARY  TRACY'S  FORTUNE.  Sab- 

LIER.    net,  $0.60. 
MILLY  AVELINO.  Smith.  N«.So.8j. 
MIRALDA.    John.son.   net,  $0.60. 
MORE  FIVE  O'CLOCK  STORIL5. 

Fy  a  ReliRious.    net,  $0.85. 
MOSTLY  BOYS.      inn,  S.J. $1.00. 
MYSTERIOUS  DOORWAY.  Saduzr. 

net.  $0.60. 

MYSTERY    OF    HORNBY  HALL. 

S.ADLIF.R.    net,  $0.85. 
MYSTERY  OF  CLEVERLY.  Barton. 

net,  $0.85. 

NAN  NOUODV.  Wagcamam.  m.  $0.60. 
NEU  RIEDER.    Weus.  to.8s. 
NEW  SCHOLAR  AT  ST.  ANNE'S. 

Brl'NOae.    net,  to.&<(. 

OLD  CHARLMONT'S  SEED-BED. 
SuiTB.    net,  $0.60. 

OLD  MILL  ON  THE  WTTHROSE. 
SpALDisc,  S.J.    net,  «i  oi- 

ON  THE  OLD  CAMPING  GROUND. 
Maniox.    net,  $0.85. 

ON  THE  RUN.  Finn, S.J.  «<,$t.oo. 

PANCHO  AND  PANCHITA.  Man- 
nix     net,  $0.60. 

PAULINE  ARCHER.   Saduer.  «-/, 

PERC  VWYNN.  FiNN.S.J.  w/.$i.oo. 
PERIL  OK  DIONYSIO.  Mannix. 
ntl,  $0.60, 

PETRONILLA.  DomnUT.  <w(,9o.8s. 
PICKLE  AND  PEPPER.  Dousv. 


PILGRIM  FROM  IRELAND.  CMi 

MOT.  net,  $0.60. 
PLAY  WATER  PLOT,  THE.  "'Aoai- 

UAN.  net,  $1.25. 
POLLY  DAY'S  ISLAND.  Robbbts. 

net.  $0.85. 

POVERINA.  BucKENBAM.  M(,9a85. 
QUEEN'S  PAGE,  THE.  Hinksoh.  net, 
$060. 

QUEEN'S  PROMISE,  THE.  Waoca- 

MAN.    <M<,  $I.>5. 

QUEST  OF  MARY  SELWYN.  Ctu- 

KNTIA.  nd,  $i.;a 
RACE  FOR  COPPER  ISLAND.  Smu- 

INC,  S.J.   net.  9i  00. 
RECRUIT     TOMMY  COLLINS. 

B  iNEsTEKL.    net,  $0.60. 
ROMANCEOFTHE  SILVER  SHOON. 

Beak.nk,  S.J.    ml,  $i.js. 
ST.  CUTHCERT'S.  Copos,  S.J.  nel, 

SANDY  JOE.  Wagoaman.  ««<,  $1.25. 
SEA  GULL'S  ROCK.    Sandiao.  ntl, 

SE^EN     LITTLE  MARSHALLS. 

NixoH  -RouLCT.   mt,  $0.60. 
SHADOWS    LIFTED.   Cowa,  S.J. 

net,  %t.3S. 

SHERIFF  OF  THE  BEECH  FORK. 

SPAtDiNO,  S.J.    net,  ti.oo. 
SHIPMATES.  Wagoaman.  naA}.tJL 
SIGNALS  FROM  THE  BAY  TRE£ 

Spalding,  S.J.  net,  $1.00. 
STRONG  ARM  OF  AVALON.  Wm> 

G  AUAN.    net,  $1.1$. 
SUGAR  CAMP  AND  AFTER.  SPAI»- 

INO,  S  J.    net,  Ir.oo 
SUMMER  AT  VVOODVILLE.  S*». 

UER.   net,  $0.60. 
TALES  AND  LEGENDS  OF  THE 

MIDDLE  ACES,   os  Capella.  n^ti, 

So.Ss. 

TALIS.MAN,  THE.  Saduer.  «k/.$o.8? 
TAMING  OF  P(^LLY.    Dorsry.  net 
»i.JS- 

THA  r  FOOTBALL  GAME.  FiKU,  S.J, 
net,  Si.oo. 

THAT  OFFICE  BOY.   FINN,  S.J,  ml, 

Jt.oo. 

THREE  GIRLS  AND  ESPEOALLT 

ONE.  Taooabt.  tM<,|o.6o. 
TOLD  IN  THE  TWILIGHT.  Sujokm. 

net,  $0.85. 

TO.M  LOS  ELY;  BOY.     Copos,  S.J 
net,  ti.};. 

TO.M   PLAYFAIR.   Finn,  S.J.  ml, 

%l.OO. 

TOM'S  LUCK-POT.  Wao«>aman.  m<, 
I0.60. 

TOQRALLADDY.  Waus.  m$,Mm 


